


Compasses Break

by em2mb



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29413839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em2mb/pseuds/em2mb
Summary: “Could he have done it?”Hardy stares at her. “Miller, I just told you his alibi.”“I know, and I’m asking you, could he have done it?”Hardy pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. Maybe?”A year after closing the Winterman case, Hardy must investigate another rape: Miller's.
Relationships: Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller, Jocelyn Knight/Maggie Radcliffe
Comments: 78
Kudos: 174





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CONTENT WARNING:** This is a fic about a male detective investigating the sexual assault of his female partner. It's a fic about dominance and control, with realistic depictions of rape and its aftermath.
> 
> It's also about new beginnings, the strength of women and the power that you get back by putting the past behind you.

_I. Hardy_

After they close the Winterman case, it’s back to street crimes and antisocial behavior. A pimply hooligan tries to steal Miller’s purse on the high street, and she lands on the front page of the Echo for breaking up a shoplifting ring. Hardy spends three weeks helping investigate a spate of arson attacks at the Ferrybridge Marine in Weymouth. The day he returns to the Broadchurch CID, he gets a call from Exeter requesting a DS to help with a murder investigation. He asks Miller as a courtesy, not expecting her to say yes.

She’s eating an apple at her desk. “Exeter, you said?” Hardy nods. “Aye, I’ll do it.” 

Hardy blinks. “What about Tom and wee Fred?”

“What about them?” Miller asks, taking a bite. “It’s Exeter, not bloody Penzance.” She chews thoughtfully. “Dad can look after them,” she says, swallowing. She sighs.

Miller’s brilliant, gets the guy to confess to killing his stepmother, but for Hardy, it’s four long, boring months of getting called _shit-face_ behind his back. If he never has to work with DS Letchley again it’ll be too soon, and he takes Miller to the chippy to celebrate when she’s returned to Broadchurch.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks, suspicious.

Hardy shrugs. “No reason,” he says, and he lets her finish his chips.

Daisy sits her A-levels. Fred breaks his arm falling out of a tree. (“Chrissakes, he’s 5!” Miller chides when Hardy signs his cast _DI Hardy._

“What would you’ve preferred I write?” Hardy asks, bewildered. 

Miller stands with her hands on her hips. “I don’t know, maybe — Tom, put your brother down this instant, he’s already got one broken arm!”) Spring becomes summer, and Tom gets his first job, at the arcade on the pier, and his first girlfriend, a freckled redhead named Maddie who’s new to Broadchurch.

Pretty soon Hardy is helping move Daisy into student accommodations at Swansea University. He stops for a second to catch his breath, gazing out the window. Her room overlooks the beach.

“Not bad for 140 quid a week,” says Tess, appearing with another one of Daisy’s boxes, which she sets on the bed. 

“Innit,” Hardy agrees. He clears his throat. “How are you, Tess?”

Tess’ hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun. “Worried she won’t get a lick of studying done if she keeps meeting boys. She’s still talking to the pair in the kitchen, Rodney and whatsit. You know, the cheeky one.”

Hardy does not, in fact, know. “Aye, Daiz is a good girl, Tess,” he says, suddenly uncomfortable. He crosses his arms. “She spent all last year studyin’ so she could come here. I wouldn’t worry.”

Tess snorts. “You’re the one paying her school fees,” she says with a shrug, and she leaves the small room.

Whatsit’s name turns out to be Paul. “Dad, Paul’s dad is a copper, too!” Daisy says brightly, when Hardy emerges from her room. 

“Is that right?” Hardy asks, draping an arm around Daisy and kissing her temple, his eyes on Paul.

“Exeter, sir. Detective.”

“No kidding,” Hardy grouses, but before he can ask Paul’s surname, Daisy excuses them, her hands pushing insistently on the small of his back.

“Stop it,” Daisy says once the door to her room is firmly shut. “You just made a mental note to ask Miller about him, didn’t you?”

“N-no,” Hardy splutters. Daisy glares at him. He sighs. “Be careful, Daiz.” He pauses. “No pictures.”

The door opens. It’s Dave with the last of Daisy’s boxes.

“I can’t believe she brought him,” Daisy seethes.

“Better get used to it, darlin’,” Hardy says, squeezing her shoulders. “They’re gettin’ married, whether you like it or not.”

Back in Broadchurch, the house is unbearably quiet without her.

*

“Witness statements,” Miller says, dropping a stack of folders on his desk, “and the CCTV footage from the car park, though I’ve already done you the courtesy of watching it.”

Hardy takes the USB drive from her. “And?”

“No sign of the red Nissan, but I ran the plates for the three other cars that entered and exited around the time of the burglary. Report’s on top.”

“From when to when?” Hardy asks before he notices she’s written _2:40 - 3:20 a.m._ on a sticky with the license plate numbers. Thorough as ever. “Forget I asked.”

“Anything else?”

Hardy looks at the clock. Half six. No wonder the bullpen is empty. “But I thought you said the boys were with your — ”

“Luce, yeah,” Miller interrupts. “Visiting Olly in London. Be back tomorrow for tea.”

“And you’re not going to work late?”

Miller glares at him. “D’you know how long it’s been since I had the house to myself of an evening?” She doesn’t wait for Hardy to guess. “Six months. That’s how long it’s been. Fifth of February, Tom slept over at a mate’s, and Beth kept Fred for me.” She pauses. “I think I fell asleep at half eight.”

Hardy flips open one of the files. “Seven,” he points out.

“What was that, sir?”

Hardy looks up. “February was seven months ago, Miller. Not six.”

“Oh bloody hell,” Miller says. “I’m going home. Pour myself a glass of wine, have a good, long soak. I suggest you do the same.”

Hardy arches an eyebrow. “You’re tellin’ me to take a bath?”

“I’m telling you to go home,” Miller says. She raps on the door with her knuckles. “See you tomorrow.”

But Hardy doesn’t go home. He’s worked late every night this week, not because the burglaries he and Miller are investigating are a top priority, but because he misses Daisy. He flips through Miller’s neat notes. Not much else for him to do at this hour.

Until he notices who owns the white Peugeot that exited the car park at 2:56 a.m. on August 16, the same time a nearby vacation rental was broken into: Maxwell Silva. Months earlier, Silva had been their prime suspect in a violent robbery, but the case had fallen apart when the victim picked a filler in the identity parade. Why hadn’t Miller brought this to his attention immediately?

Then Hardy remembers: He hadn’t worked the case with Miller. She’d been on loan to Exeter at the time. Just the thought of the interrogation with DS Letchley is enough to rile Hardy.

That’s probably why he shows up on Miller’s doorstep forty minutes later with a stack of case files under his arm. He knocks for a full minute before she answers in a fuzzy peach robe.

Miller crosses her arms. “What is it?” she says crossly. “I was rather enjoying a hot bath.”

“I know,” Hardy says, handing her the pint of chocolate ice cream he’d picked up on his way. “That’s why I brought you this.”

Miller’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “What did you find?”

“Maxwell Silva? The owner of the white Peugeot?” Miller nods. “Prime suspect in a robbery I worked while you were in Exeter.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Miller says, but she opens the door to let him in. “Not the one in Bothenhampton, I hope.”

Hardy, already spreading the files out on her dining room table, glances over his shoulder. “Yeah, the one in Bothenhamptom. Mum was beaten in front of her toddler. How’d you know about it?”

“Heard about it from Ewan.” Hardy blinks. “DS Letchley?”

“Why were you talkin’ to Letchley?"

“I don’t know, Hardy. He’s my colleague? He’s got a daughter Fred’s age? Why does anyone talk to anyone?” He sees she’s found a spoon. “My God, this is divine. Did you get this on the pier?” Miller points the spoon at him. “You still shouldn’t have interrupted my first night off in six months.”

“Seven,” Hardy reminds her. “Hey — hey Miller, where do you think you’re going?” he calls as she disappears up the stairs.

“To put some clothes on! What do you think I’m wearing under this robe, my suit?”

“Aye, well,” Hardy says, massaging the back of his neck as he blushes. At least Miller isn’t around to see. He can hear her changing upstairs, quiet as an elephant, as he makes them both tea.

Five minutes later, she’s back, dressed in jogger sweatpants and a tatty t-shirt that’s so big it hangs off her shoulder, revealing the black strap of her sports bra. “What?” Miller demands. “If I’m going to help with this case, I’m at least going to be comfortable.” She glares at him. “Unlike you.”

He gets her up to speed on the Bothenhampton case. “Alannah Simpson, 28. Married mum from Leeds, spending a few days on the Jurassic Coast with her husband, Alby, 36, and their 2-year-old, Arya.”

“God, I hate that,” Miller says.

“Hate what?”

“When everyone in the family has the same initials.” Miller takes a big bite of ice cream. “Bit of an odd time for a holiday, really. Mid-November?”

“Well, Alby Simpson is a lecturer at the University of Leeds. School of Earth and Environment. Came down to give a talk on coastal erosion. Forecast wasn’t bad, so Alannah asked if she and Arya could come along, and he agreed. They take the train down, pick up the keys to their rental, order fish and chips at the local but end up taking their meal to go because the wee bairn’s fussin’. Next morning, Alby gets up early to prepare for his lecture. Alannah says she’ll get Arya around, be at the Bridport Golf Club at half eleven. When he gives his talk at noon, his wife and daughter aren’t there.”

Miller winces. “I know what happens next, but go on.”

“Alby takes a taxi back to town. Door’s open, Arya’s cryin’, Alannah’s lyin’ in a pool of her own blood in the bedroom. Calls 999. Uniforms call us. Took a while to work out what happened. Couldn’t get a statement from Alannah ’til the next day.”

“I seem to recall the Simpsons’ suitcases were stolen.”

“Aye, and her wedding ring. Whoever attacked her wrenched it right off her finger.”

“Poor thing,” Miller says, and Hardy notices she touches her own ring finger with her thumb, where she used to wear Joe’s ring. “University lecturer, though. I can’t imagine it was that valuable.”

“Well, if you ask the mother-in-law, it’s bloody priceless. Family heirloom. Big emerald, lots of sparkly diamonds. She arrived the day after it happened, presumably to help care for her granddaughter, but she wouldn’t stop bleating about the gemstone, like it was Alannah’s fault it was stolen.”

“Why’d you like Silva?” Miller asks, spoon now scraping the bottom of the pint. “Oh, sorry. I should have offered you some.” She doesn’t sound the least bit sorry.

Hardy, who’d been leaning his hip against the table, straightens to point to a photo of a sullen blonde woman. “Tabitha Van Ness, Silva’s ex-girlfriend. Works at Ivy House. That’s the pub.”

“Did she wait on the Simpsons?”

“Just served them their drinks, but she noticed the ring, all right. Made Alannah uncomfortable. Said she kept her hand under the table the rest of the time.”

“So what, the ex-girlfriend tells Silva about the ring, and he decides to steal it?”

“Well, we didn’t suspect Silva initially. Think I forgot to mention he’d been doing some work for the owner of the vacation rental.”

“What type of work?”

“Electrical. He’d been in the cottage a couple of days before the Simpsons, installing dimmer switches.”

Miller puts her hands on her hips. “Why put dimmer switches in a vacation rental?” Hardy shrugs. “Go on.”

“Owner told us Silva’d been in the cottage, where to find him. He cooperated when we asked him for elimination prints.” Hardy grits his teeth.

“What?” Miller asks.

“What d’you mean?”

“You’re clenching your jaw,” she points out.

Hardy sighs. “Oh, just something Letchley said about Silva. ‘Cheerful bloke.’”

“Was he?”

“Make me another cuppa, will you?”

“Why, so you can complain it’s weak? Make your own bloody tea,” Miller replies. “You didn’t answer my question. Was Silva a cheerful bloke?” She follows Hardy into the kitchen.

He reaches for the kettle. “He annoyed me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Since everyone annoys you, I’m going to need you to be more specific. Did Silva annoy you like Dirty Brian annoys you, or was he smarmy?”

Hardy isn’t about to tell her Silva’d annoyed him like she used to, people pleaser that she was. “We found his prints in the cottage, but nowhere you wouldn’t expect an electrician to be, and none in the bedroom where Alannah was attacked.”

“So how’d he become a suspect?”

“One of the Simpsons’ suitcases turned up.”

“Where?”

“Dumpster behind Ivy House. Silva’s prints were all over it.”

“And what did he have to say for himself?”

“Claims to have found it in the brambles behind the cottages.”

“Why dump it?”

Hardy smacks the countertop with an open palm, then points at her. “That’s why I need you here, not on loan to bloody Exeter. Because you know what DI Letchley said? ‘Makes sense, sir. It’s the closest dumpster.'”

Miller doesn’t smile. 

Hardy continues, “Anyway, we started poking at Silva’s alibi. He’d said he was installing a new junction box, but the work was shoddy, and the homeowner complained. Boss said it looked like it was rushed. Not up to Silva’s usual standard. Probably because he was only there for thirty minutes. He told us it was at least an hour.” He grabs two bags of PG Tips. “’Bout out of tea.”

When she doesn’t answer, he glances over his shoulder. She’s sat at the table, holding one of the pictures that was taken of Alannah Simpson at the hospital. “Was she ... ”

She doesn’t have to say it. “Rape kit found traces of semen, her husband’s. They both told us they had sex the night before. He said it was half ten, she said it was after midnight, but their stories more or less lined up.”

“Was it consensual?”

“They’re married, Miller.”

“And you’ve been on enough shouts on the estate to know that doesn’t mean a bloody thing,” Miller snaps. “My God, I shouldn’t have to remind you a husband can rape his wife.”

Hardy cringes. “No,” he agrees. “You shouldn’t.” The tea kettle begins to whistle. “Sorry.”

“You ought to be.” Miller’s still studying the picture of Alannah, both her eyes swollen shut. “She saw her attacker?” Hardy nods. “But she didn’t recognize Silva in the identity parade?”

“No, and the guy she ID’d didn’t look anything like him. He was a lot bigger than Silva for one. And his features were different. Darker hair, olive skin.”

“And Silva?” 

“Wiry. Maybe 12 stone.” Hardy walks over to the table and leans over Miller, shuffling papers until he finds Silva’s mugshot. Her wet curls smell like flowers. It’s nice. “Here.”

“My God, he’s skinnier than you.”

Hardy bristles. “Not as skinny as I used to be.”

“Congratulations, you’re not dying,” Miller deadpans. “Weren’t you making me a cuppa?” He hands her one of the mugs, not realizing until after she’s taken a sip it’s the one he drank out of earlier. No point in telling her. She’s always eating off his plate. “Tell me about the husband.”

“Said he left the vacation rental at half nine, took a taxi to the Bridport Golf Club. Taxi company confirms he was picked up at 9:26. He says he asked the driver for recommendations for the weekend, driver confirms he told Simpson there wasn’t much to do in Bothenhampton in November. Dropped him off at the club, where he was seen by no fewer than six people. Mentioned a couple of times it wasn’t like his wife not to show up when she said she would. He gave his talk, took fewer questions than the organizers would have liked, then straight back to Bothenhampton.”

“Could he have done it?”

Hardy stares at her. “Miller, I just told you his alibi.”

“I know, and I’m asking you, could he have done it?”

Hardy pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Maybe,” Miller repeats.

“Fine, he rubbed me the wrong way,” Hardy admits, taking a seat next to her. “Alannah’d been struck in the back of the head with a lamp and fallen through a glass coffee table. She couldn’t tell us much about her attacker, which really seemed to bug her husband. ‘You need to try harder,’ he kept saying. ‘They’re not going to be able find your ring if you can’t tell them who attacked you.’”

“Bloody hell, he was more worried about the ring than his wife? Wanker.”

“Wanker with an alibi,” Hardy reminds her. She opens her mouth. “No, he couldn’t have knocked her out before he left. She called her sister at 9:52 and chatted for about twenty minutes. Cell phone records confirm.”

“So she was attacked after 10:15 and before … one?” Miller guesses.

“Well, we’re assuming 11:15, since she said she’d be at the golf club at half eleven. But if you’re asking how late Simpson’s talk went, half one? The 999 call came in around 2.”

“My God, he talked about coastal erosion for an hour and a half? Was the audience there as punishment?”

The corners of Hardy’s mouth twitch. “So you think she might’ve been attacked later than half eleven.”

“Depends. Tell me about Silva’s job that morning, the junction box. When did he say he got there?”

“Ten, left a little after eleven.”

“And when was he actually there?”

“Later. Half eleven?” Hardy reaches into his pocket for his reading glasses so he can skim the transcript. “No, closer to noon. Homeowner knew what time it was because Silva arrived at the same time as a package. According to the courier’s electronic tracking system, it was signed for at 11:57.”

Miller is biting her lip. “OK, so Silva lies to you about the call out. He doesn’t even arrive until after he says he’s left. Do you think he knew when the attack was supposed to have taken place?”

“Must’ve.” Hardy looks up from the transcript, peering down his nose at Miller. “You don’t think the attack happened between 10:15 and 11:30.”

“No, I don’t think Alannah planned to take her 2-year-old to a boring lecture on coastal erosion. She’d have been mad to try. They don’t sit still for a minute at the age, let alone an hour and a half.”

Hardy blinks. Why hadn’t he considered that?

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Miller says. “Yours has been out of nappies for ages.” She wraps her hand around her mug. “Meanwhile, sometimes Fred still acts like he’s in his terrible twos.”

“Fred’s a good lad,” Hardy replies, suddenly uncomfortable.

Miller doesn’t say anything. “So why was Maxwell Silva in Broadchurch at the exact same time our beachside burglar was burgling? Oh, don’t give me that look.”

Because this time, the corners of Hardy’s mouth definitely turn up. They spend the next three hours bandying about theories, but none of them fully explain what happened to Alannah Simpson. Finally, despite the empty PG Tips box in the recycling bin, Miller yawns. “I think it’s time we call it, Hardy.”

He hadn’t realized how late it was. Almost midnight. He hopes he hasn’t overstayed his welcome. He reaches for the jacket he’d draped over the back of one of her chairs and shrugs back into it, but he doesn’t tighten his tie.

“You look like my Tom and those hooligans he calls friends,” Miller says warmly. Then, wistfully, “Sixth form.”

“Aye,” Hardy says, thinking of Daisy. He wonders if she’s asleep in her little bedroom at Bay Campus right now ... or down the hall in Paul’s. 

“Sir, can I ask you something?”

Hardy almost tells her not to call him that. “Sure, Miller.”

“Earlier. You said you needed me here, not on loan to Exeter. I did good work in Exeter, sir.”

It’s not a question. “You know what I meant, Miller. I like working with you more than DS Letchley. That’s all.”

“Because I’d like more opportunities like Exeter, sir. I think I proved myself.”

Hardy blinks. She’d done more than prove herself. “Will you stop calling me that?” he says finally. “I didn’t — I didn’t mean I’d hold you back, Miller. Just because I’ve decided to stay in Broadchurch doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Broadchurch is my home,” she says, the _sir_ hanging between them, unspoken. 

Hardy clears his throat. “G’night, Miller. See you in the morning.” He walks over to the door, expecting her to follow him. “Well, make sure you lock up.”

“Ta,” Miller says, but she doesn’t get up from the table.

*

Hardy wakes up feeling guilty. Not only had he intruded on Miller’s evening, but he’d made her doubt her own abilities. She’s a brilliant detective. In fact, it’s because of her that he’s just had an epiphany about the Simpson case.

Which is why he’s back at her house not eight hours after he left. She’ll forgive him, though. He’s bought her a scone _and_ a latte.

But as soon as he rounds the hedges, he notices Miller’s screen door is hanging open. Hardy frowns, stepping over the threshold. The door to the living room is ajar, too. He pushes it all the way open with his elbow, then immediately sets the latte on the baluster. “Miller?”

There’s a muffled noise upstairs.

“Miller?” he calls, but he’s already taking the steps two at a time.

Miller’s bedroom door is closed. He knocks.

More shuffling. Then, Miller’s voice, unmistakable. “Tom, please don’t open the door, sweetheart. Take Fred over to Beth’s, OK? If Chloe isn’t there, tell her you’ll take good care of Lizzie, but I just need her to come as quick as she can.”

There’s a pit in Hardy’s stomach. “Miller, it’s me. I thought you said the boys wouldn’t be home 'til tea.” He glances down the stairs, wondering if he’s overreacting.

That’s when he sees the streak of blood on the wall.

Hardy throws Miller’s bedroom door open, knowing whatever he’s about to see will be bad and still not fully prepared to find her huddled naked on the floor, arms at grotesque angles, handcuffed to the bed frame. There’s a weeping bite mark on her left breast, fingertip bruises on the right. 

_No,_ Hardy thinks, crouching next to her. _No._ “M-Miller,” he stammers. _Ellie._ He should really call her Ellie. She likes to be called Ellie.

Miller forces herself to smile. “In a bit of a jam,” she says, brow furrowed. “Rather you than Tom.” Her eyes are watery. “Keys to these things are supposed to be universal — ” her voice cracks “ — no?”

Hardy nods. His movements feel as slow and sluggish as they had when he’d pulled Pippa from the river. Somehow he manages to dig out his own handcuffs, and the key, but his hands are shaking so badly it takes him three tries to free her. “There you go,” he says, and he doesn’t sound like him. “Easy.”

Miller’s face is screwed up with pain. “I think — could you — ”

It takes Hardy a second to realize she needs help lowering her right arm. He guides it down slowly, gently, letting it rest against her stomach. “Your shoulder might be dislocated,” he says. “Don’t nod. You’ll make it worse.” He glances down, then remembers she’s naked.

Dazed, he tries to shrug off his jacket.

“Hardy, no.”

Hardy swallows. “No, of course not.” _Her body is a crime scene,_ he realizes. He feels sick.

“Just — just help me up, will you? I’ll feel much better when I’ve showered.”

Hardy bites his lip. “Miller, you know I can’t let you do that.”

Her hair had smelled so sweet after her bath. Now it’s caked with blood. “I was afraid you’d say that.” She takes a shuddering breath. “Downstairs, in my purse. There should be a pair of gloves. Probably don’t have an evidence sheet in the car, do you?” Hardy shakes his head. “Well, if you prefer to wait for SOCO, I’d understand. I’ve been crouched like this for five hours, what’s one more? Bit cold, though.” She shivers.

Hardy stares at her incredulously. “Miller, what do you want me to do?”

“Does it matter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why write about this? I ask myself that a lot. I've written stories about rape recovery in other fandoms (Veronica Mars, MCU), and sometimes I just feel compelled. As a survivor, writing these stories has helped me process my own long-ago trauma.
> 
> When I finished binging Broadchurch — three years late to the party, as always — this story started to form in my head. I didn't think I'd write it. I'm busy with other projects. But then the words started to flow. And here we are.
> 
> RAINN: 800-656-4673 (U.S.)
> 
> Rape Crisis England & Wales: <https://rapecrisis.org.uk/>


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CONTENT WARNING:** This chapter details a female character's forensic medical exam after a rape. It includes an accounting of her injuries. After, she tells a male detective (her partner) what happened to her. 
> 
> I expect this will be the roughest chapter in this fic. It draws heavily on Trish Winterman's experience at the Tides in episode 3x01.

Hardy feels bloody awful about it, but he still rings an ambulance. He knows Miller would rather as few of their colleagues — not to mention Joe’s former colleagues — know as possible, but her knees buckle when she tries to stand. Her inner thighs are tacky with blood and semen. A hot splash of vomit rises in Hardy’s throat. He swallows it.

This isn’t about him.

Dirty Brian rests a gloved hand on Hardy’s shirtsleeve as the paramedics help Miller down the stairs. He’d given her his jacket in the end. “We’ll need to collect exclusionary DNA from you at some point,” he says, which isn’t the telling-off Hardy deserves.

“If it can wait, I’ll swing by the CID later,” Hardy mutters, still watching Miller. The paramedics wrap a trauma blanket around her before ushering her out the door.

Dirty Brian nods. “Did she say ... ”

Hardy shakes his head. “No. I think she’s in shock,” he lies. If anyone’s in shock, it’s him. Miller had been coherent, even calm. She’d been shackled to her bed for hours at that point, thinking about how to protect her boys from the horrors she’d endured. 

_ Eight hours.  _ Eight hours since he’d left her in the dining room, poring over the files from the Simpson case. They’re probably still spread out on Miller’s table. He hadn’t taken them with him. 

Dirty Brian glances over his shoulder at Miller’s bed, which another SOCO is carefully stripping. His eyes land on the pool of blood on the floor. “I know it looks like a lot,” he says with a lopsided shrug. “Ellie’s tough, though.”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?” Hardy asks, but it isn’t Dirty Brian he’s angry with. How much more can one woman take?

“Sir,” one of the paramedics calls, and Hardy leaves Dirty Brian at the top of the steps, “they’re not going to be able to treat her injuries at the Tides. They’ve advised we transport her to the hospital. A crisis worker and the FME will meet us there.”

“Can I speak to her?” Hardy asks.

“Of course, sir,” the paramedic says, stepping to the side so he can pass in the narrow entryway.

Miller is sitting in the back of the rig, staring resolutely forward.

Hardy shoves his hands in his pockets. “Do you want me to call Beth?”

“Why would I want you to call Beth?” 

“Because you were going to tell Tom to get her,” Hardy says, staring at his shoes. “I would’ve come over, Miller. When you didn’t come to work.” He glances up in time to see a single tear slip down her cheek. 

“Please don’t call Beth.”

“All right, Miller,” Hardy agrees. “See you at the hospital.”

The paramedics close the doors. Right. He’ll just see if Dirty Brian needs anything else, then he’ll be on his way.

“DI Hardy.”

He whips around, suddenly face-to-face with one of Miller’s neighbors. “Yes?” he snaps.

The older woman looks taken aback. “Is Ellie all right? Did she have a fall?”

Hardy swallows. A fall could explain most of Miller’s injuries. Part of him wants to leave it at that, except he knows he’ll have to question her neighbors.

“You don’t think someone broke in, do you? How come you people haven’t caught the Beachside Burglar yet?” 

“Did you see or hear anything last night?”

Mrs. Next Door arches an eyebrow. “Saw  _ you _ leave ’round eleven thirty.”

All Hardy can see is Miller shivering on the floor, skin bitten and bleeding. “Aye,” he says without thinking.

Fortunately, Bob saves him. 

“Oi, Mildred!” the constable calls, walking towards them. “I told you to stay in your own garden.”

Mildred huffs a sigh, but she does as she’s told. Any minute she’ll be peering through her lace curtains at them.

“And how are you holding up, DI Hardy?” Bob asks.

Hardy doesn’t answer. “I want it made clear that if I hear so much as a whisper about what happened to DS Miller around the office, it’ll be an immediate suspension.”

“We wouldn’t do that to Ellie, sir.”

“Now, I need to make sure — ”

“We have this, DI Hardy. Go, someone should be with Ellie at the hospital.”

Hardy doesn’t feel remotely qualified. At the hospital, he’s greeted by Anna, the same crisis worker who’d been assigned to Trish Winterman. “She asked me to keep a lookout for you,” Anna says as Hardy flashes his badge at reception.

“Where is she?” he asks briskly.

“X-ray.”

“Has she said anything about how she wants to do this?” Hardy asks. “There, er, isn’t another female detective sergeant.” 

“She’s requested you.”

Hardy nods mechanically, following Anna back to A&E. Someone hands him a disposable gown, booties, gloves. He peers through the glass. Miller is lying on her back on the X-ray table. “Just a few more minutes,” the technician says.

Hardy tries to remember anything unusual about the night before. The last thing he’d said to Miller was to lock her door. Had she?

He regrets the thought as soon as he has it. Miller shouldn’t’ve had to lock her door. She should’ve been safe in her own home.

What had happened? Had she startled an intruder? Maybe the motive was theft, and the attack had been a crime of opportunity.

What kind of burglar overreacts to being caught out by dragging a woman up the stairs and raping her? Who has that kind of rage? Hardy thinks about the bite mark on her breast. 

If they’re lucky, they’ll be able to take an impression.

Hardy isn’t a violent man. He isn’t expecting the flash of white-hot anger. Without warning, he slams his fist into the wall behind him. 

The X-ray technician jumps back in fright.

But Anna looks sympathetic.

*

“Not going to offer me a cuppa?” Miller asks when he finishes swabbing her mouth. Hardy stares at her blankly. “Never mind.”

Then Hardy remembers how kind Miller had been to Trish Winterman. “Do you, er, want one?”

The nurse steps forward. “Can’t have one, sir. No food or drinks until we’ve treated her injuries.”

Hardy has to rack his brain for the next step. “Er, urine sample.”

“Already got one, sir,” Anna informs him. “Before you got here. And the FME’s just arrived.”

Hardy looks at Miller. “Are you sure about this, Miller? If you’d prefer someone else ... ”

“Someone other than you?” Hardy nods. “Not many choices, are there? Besides, you’ve already seen me naked.” Miller pauses. “This morning, I meant.”

Oh. Sometimes he forgets they’re supposed to have had an affair. “Didn’t see much,” Hardy assures her.

“You’re not very good at lying,” Miller informs him.

The FME steps in. “Oh, Ellie,” she says.

“Hello, Agnes. How are the twins?” Miller’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Excited to be starting secondary,” Agnes replies. She pauses. “Well, Brynn is. Elin less so. Shy, she is. And your boys? We saw Tom the other day on the pier. Quite the good-looking lad you’ve got there. Brynn was blushing.”

Miller tugs on Hardy’s sleeve while Agnes is setting up. “Lucy,” she says.

It takes him a second to remember Tom and Fred are with their aunt. “Do you want me to call her?”

“Ask if she can keep the boys tonight.” Miller bites her lip. “Don’t tell her I was ... ”

“Got it.”

Hardy steps out into the hallway. He pulls out his mobile. Does he have Lucy’s number? He’s about to go back in to ask Miller for it when he remembers Lucy’s called him before. Mostly when Miller had gotten held up in Exeter and Lucy wasn’t willing to cancel her plans, though once at 1 a.m. when she’d been drunk and looking for a shag. He’d only answered because he thought something might’ve happened to Miller or one of the boys. He certainly hadn’t picked up  _ anyone _ at the Serpent & Eel.

_ “It’s Luce. Leave a message.” _

Only what’s Hardy supposed to say? Fortunately, there’s a beep. He pulls his mobile away from his ear to check the call waiting.  _ Lucy Stevens. _

“Don’t bloody tell me. You’ve got a shout, and she wants me to keep the boys another night?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Hardy mumbles. He knows that the curtains have been drawn in the exam room for Miller’s privacy, but he doesn’t like that he can’t see through the glass.

“Well, I’ve already got plans. Tell her it was damn good of me to take them for a few days. And that next time, not to have her boss do her dirty work.”

Lucy hangs up. Hardy stares at his mobile.  _ That went well. _

Back in the exam room, Agnes and Anna are helping Miller into stirrups. “Er,” Hardy says, “where do you want me?”

When none of the women answer, Hardy decides he’ll hang back. 

“OK, Ellie,” Agnes says, pulling up a stool. “This won’t be pleasant, but I’ll be as quick as I can about it. Knees wide, there you go.”

“Ellie, if you feel unsafe or uncomfortable in any way, we’ll stop,” Anna assures Miller.

There’s a long pause. “Ellie, did you tear with either of the boys?” Agnes asks.

“Ten pounds, Tom was. Listened when the doc suggested a C-section for Fred.”

“Signs of trauma to the vagina and anus,” Agnes tells her assistant. “Second degree sulcus laceration. She’ll need stitches.”

Hardy makes the mistake of looking up and catching Miller’s eye.  _ You wanker,  _ she communicates plainly.  _ What’re you doing over there? Get over here and hold my hand. _

He doesn’t have to be told twice. Anna takes a step back, making space for him. “Is it OK if I ... ”

“We’ve done her fingernails already,” Agnes’ assistant confirms. “Just be careful.”

Miller’s wrists are rubbed raw from the handcuffs. Hardy fumbles for her hand. “Just a little longer, Miller,” he says, though truthfully, he has no idea how long this will take. He feels his mobile buzz in his pocket. He ignores it.

Behind him, Agnes taps Miller’s knee. “That’s a good girl. One of the hospital obstetricians will stitch you up just as soon as we’re done. Healing won’t be much different than from Tom, OK? It won’t be pleasant the first few times you pee, but the pain and soreness shouldn’t last longer than two weeks. We’ll send you home with a peri bottle. Treat yourself to some Tucks, all right?”

Hardy mentally puts medicated pads on Miller’s shopping list, right below the PG Tips. He’d bought Tucks for Tess after Daisy.  _ Not a problem. _ He squeezes Miller’s hand without thinking.

To his surprise, she squeezes back. He manages a tight-lipped smile for her sake.

“Sorry about your jacket,” she says. “It’s gone in an evidence bag, I’m afraid.”

“Not a problem, Miller.”

“’Course it isn’t, you’ve 17 just like it at home.” Miller grimaces as Agnes lifts her other hand. “Did Lucy say she’d keep the boys?”

“Didn’t get hold of her,” Hardy lies.

Miller sighs. “She hung up on you, didn’t she?”

Hardy doesn’t answer. “Miller,” he says finally, “what d’you remember?”

“You’ll want to inventory the files on the Simpson case,” she tells him with a slight shake of her head.  _ I’ll tell you later.  _ “Wasn’t thinking, was I? Left them all out on the table.”

His gloved thumb skims the back of her knuckles. “S’OK.”

Finally Agnes is done. “Well done, Ellie. I’ll send the doctors in, yeah?”

“Anna,” Miller asks, “can you give DI Hardy and me a minute?”

“Of course.”

Then they’re alone. Hardy isn’t sure if he should let go of her hand. “Miller,” he says.

“I didn’t go to sleep when you left. I read over the transcript of Alannah Simpson’s interview again. I don’t think Maxwell Silva attacked her. Someone else did.”

“Miller,” Hardy says again.

She ignores him. “Silva came by later, to steal the ring. Van Ness heard the Simpsons making plans to take baby Arya to the beach after the lecture. You don’t take a ring like that to the beach. But when Silva broke in to steal it, he got more than he bargained for. Alannah’d been knocked out by someone else.”

Hardy blinks. “That’s actually what I was comin’ by to tell you. This morning.”

“Seems obvious now. Not sure why we didn’t spot it last night.” Miller takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Got up from my chair. Half one, or thereabouts. Thought I’d make myself one more cuppa, then I remembered you’d drank all the tea.” She arches an eyebrow, as if daring Hardy to challenge her. “Started rummaging the cupboard for an errant tea bag. Sure I’d find one. Then I heard a floorboard creak, and someone smashed me from behind.”

They’re still holding hands. “Hit you?”

“Grabbed the back of my neck, felt like. Shouted. Slammed my head into the cabinets.”

_ That would explain the gash. _ “Who shouted, you or him?”

“Both of us, I expect.” Miller bites her lip. “Can’t remember what he said. Not sure it was words. More like an ... angry growl.”

Hardy’s feeling sick to his stomach again. “Angry growl,” he repeats. “And then you lost consciousness?”

Miller shakes her head. “He clamped his hand over my mouth and wrenched my arms behind my back.”

“Get a look at his face?”

“No, my back was to him. He was wearing a face covering. Bally, maybe? Dark colored. Dressed for sneaking.”

Hardy thinks about the layout of Miller’s kitchen. “What’d he do once he had your arms pinned?”

“Dragged me into the living room. Grabbed my purse. It was in the chair. Always throw it there when I get home.” She pauses. “Dug out my handcuffs.”

Hardy’s thumb stops skimming her knuckles. “He knew you had them.”

“Everyone in Broadchurch knows I have them,” Miller points out. “He dragged me up the stairs. I made an awful fuss. Surprised if none of the neighbors heard me. No one wants to get involved, though, do they?”

“What happened when he got you up the stairs?” Hardy asks. He needs her to tell him, even though he already knows the answer.

Miller purses her lips. “He pushed me onto my bed. On my stomach. Pulled my shirt off, then my bra. Stuffed my bra in my mouth. Thought I was going to choke.” Her eyes are red-rimmed, but she isn’t crying. “Cuffed me to the bed. I think I dislocated my own shoulder thrashing about.”

_Of course you were,_ Hardy thinks. Miller’s a fighter. “What happened after that?” he asks softly. 

“Forced himself on me, didn’t he?” Miller closes her eyes. “Vaginally. Left me alone for a bit. More’n a few minutes, but I couldn’t see the clock. Came back. Did it again.”

Hardy closes his eyes, too. “The second time, was it also ... ”

“No. He’d been so rough the first time, see.” Hardy is going to punch another wall, soon as he leaves the exam room. “Got mad, started hitting me in the kidneys. Hurt like the dickens, it did. Called me a slag. Never mind it’s been ages since I last had sex.” Miller sniffs. “I’ve a few names I’d like to call him.”

So does Hardy. He opens his eyes, surprised to see he’s clasped both his hands around hers. “Miller, d’you have any idea who might’ve done this?”

With a small shake of her head, Miller looks away. “But Joe and I used to handcuff each other from time to time.”

*

Hardy holds Miller’s hand while she’s stitched up. “You can squeeze harder if you need to.”

“No I can’t,” Miller sniffs, her cheeks streaked with tears. “You’re a bloody toothpick, I’ll break your hand.”

“Bit sturdier than that,” Hardy huffs.

“All done, Ellie,” the doctor says, peeling her gloves off. “What’re you using for birth control currently?”

Miller shakes her head. “Nothing.”

Hardy squeezes her hand. “I’m going to step out for a minute if you don’t mind.” He lets go, slipping out as the doctor offers to prescribe the morning-after pill.

In the hallway, Hardy takes a deep breath to steady himself. Then he calls Maggie.

“DI Hardy,” she greets him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“There was another break-in last night.”

“The Beachside Burglar?”

“Why do you people insist on callin’ him that?” Hardy runs his hand over his beard. “No, not him, I don’t think.” He pauses, trying to decide how much to tell her. “This stays between us, d’you hear me? I swear to God, Maggie.”

“You don’t believe in God, petal. What is it?”

“The break-in was at DS Miller’s house.” He exhales slowly. “She was ... attacked.”

He hears Maggie cover her mouth. “Oh no.”

“Is there — can you and Jocelyn take the boys tonight? Her sister has them right now, but the way SOCO are tearing up the house, they’ll need a place to stay tonight.”

“Ellie, too?”

“Dunno yet.”

“Well, bring them ’round. Or do you need me to pick them up? They’re supposed to be getting back today, aren’t they? I know they’ve been in London. Olly’s been posting the pictures on Instagram.” Maggie tsks. “Luce won’t keep them?”

“Said she had plans.”

“Plans more important than her sister? Or does she not know yet?”

“Aye,” Hardy says, nodding at the doctor as she slips out of the exam room.

“It’s not that we — oh, who am I kidding, I mean me — mind taking them, it’s just — well, I’m surprised you’re not asking Beth Latimer. Or does Ellie not want her to know either?”

Hardy’s eyes follow another doctor into Miller’s exam room. Same doctor that had set Fred’s arm. “Look, I’m sure it’ll get out eventually. But I’d like to protect her a little longer, if I can.”

“Of course,” Maggie says. She hesitates. “How is she?”

Behind him, Miller lets out blood-curdling scream. “I have to go,” Hardy says, and he ends the call.

He walks into chaos.

“You said you’d go on three!” Miller shouts at the orthopaedist through tears, pushing aside the comforting hand Anna tries to lay on her. “That was two!”

Hardy rounds on the doctor. “What did you do to her?”

“Reset her shoulder,” he says, a bit smugly.

“Bloody hell, she’s just been raped! You couldn’t have gone easy on her? Get outta here,” Hardy snarls as Miller retches, her face contorted in pain. He glares at the nurse. “Can’t you give her anything?”

“She’s turned it all down, sir.”

Hardy looks at Miller incredulously. “Why?”

She won’t look him in the eye. “Didn’t want to be loopy when I gave my statement.”

The worst part is, she has a point. “What about paracetamol? Could she have some paracetamol? Something to take the edge off?”

The nurse blinks. “Of course.”

“Ellie, is that all right with you?” Anna asks. Miller nods. “OK.”

The nurse promises to be right back. 

“Er, can I speak to you again, Miller? Alone?” Hardy asks.

“It’s OK, Anna,” Miller assures the crisis worker. “Perhaps — I’d take a clean gown, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course,” Anna says.

Hardy stands with his hands on his hips until they’re alone. “That doctor. Did he hurt you? Do you want to file a complaint?”

“He only reset my shoulder. Had to be done.” She still won’t look at him.

“What is it, Miller?”

“You said it.”

“Said what?”

“That I’d been raped. Guess this is real, then.” She wipes her eyes. “God, look at me. I’m a bloody mess. Can’t stop crying.”

“Do you... ”

“Do I what?”

“Nothing,” Hardy says quickly. A hug is probably the last thing she wants. He swallows. “Maggie’ll take the boys tonight.”

“You didn’t tell her, did you?” Hardy doesn’t answer. “Oh, God. You did.”

He sneaks a glance at her. “You didn’t want me to tell Beth,” he points out.

Miller exhales. “And Luce is bloody Luce. No, it’s fine. Tell Maggie thank you for me.”

There’s a knock. It’s the nurse. She hands Miller a little plastic cup with two pills and a little paper cup of water. Anna returns a moment later with a clean gown.

Hardy jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll step out.”

“DI Hardy!”

He groans. DS Letchley is walking towards him with two coffees and what looks like a bundle of rags under his arms. “What d’you want, Letchley?”

Letchley hands him one of the coffees. “For you,” he says. The bundle turns out to be clothes. “Ellie’s. SOCO thought she ought to have something to change into.”

Hardy blinks. “Why would SOCO call you?”

“SOCO didn’t call me, Clark did. Which you’d know if you’d answered any of my calls.”

“No, no, no,” Hardy says, shaking his head. “Not you.”

“Told her you’d say that. You can’t investigate this alone, sir.”

“Who says?” Hardy takes a sip of the coffee. “That’s bloody awful.” He takes another sip.

“You’re welcome,” Letchley says.

“So you’ve been by the house then.”

Letchley nods. “Yeah.” He ducks his head. “Neighbors say they saw you there last night. Arrived half seven, left around midnight. Sound right?”

Hardy sighs. “We were workin’ on a case.”

“I know. Case files spread out on the dining room table, two mugs in the sink.”

“I already told Dirty Brian I’d provide an exclusionary sample,” Hardy says irritably.

Letchley’s brow furrows. “Dirty Brian? SOCO Young, you mean?”

Hardy curses silently. Dirty Brian’s his and Miller’s joke. “Do you really think — ” he lowers his voice “ — I left her handcuffed to her bloody bed?”

Letchley winces. “’Course not.”

Hardy snatches Miller’s clothes from Letchley. “Gimme those.”

“You’re not the only one who cares about her, you know,” Letchley calls after him. “We all love Ellie.”

Hardy slides the exam room door shut.

*

Miller’s discharged at half twelve. As much as Hardy wants to shield her from prying eyes, he isn’t about to leave her alone, and he’s not sure where else to take her but the CID. He guides her by the elbow that isn’t in a sling to his car.

“You can have my office,” he tells her, hand on the frame to keep her from bumping her head. “Close the blinds. Nap on the couch.”

“SOCO are still at my house,” she says smartly.

Hardy doesn’t answer. “Do you want anything? Something to eat?”

“Not hungry.” She rests her head against the window and closes her eyes. She looks exhausted. Hardy considers telling CS Clark he’s taking Miller to his house to rest and will work from home, but he’s missed too many calls to get away with it.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s shuffling Miller onto the elevator over her objections that she can manage the stairs. Soon as they walk in, everyone falls silent. It’s clear the standup they’ve interrupted is about her.

Hardy ignores them. He steers Miller into his office, closes the door and shuts the blinds, just like he said he would. “Sit,” he commands.

Miller doesn’t sit. “Did you see how they were looking at me? Pity.”

“Worried about you, that’s all.” He isn’t about to tell her how worried  _ he _ is. “Gonna make you that cuppa.” Miller nods. “Sit.”

But before Hardy can make it to the kitchen, he’s intercepted by DCI Desai. “Hardy,” he says briskly. “Clark wants to see you in her office.”

Hardy groans. He looks around the bullpen. Everyone is pretending to be absorbed with their work. “DC Parry,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Make Miller a cuppa, will you?” He pauses. “Half a spoonful, splash of milk.”

“Of course, sir,” Parry says, rising from her chair.

Hardy knocks on the chief superintendent’s door. “Come in.”

“You wanted to see me?” he asks, holding the doorknob and wishing Jenkinson hadn’t been promoted. Eighteen months in, and he still hasn’t got a read on Clark. 

“Door closed, DI Hardy.” He closes it. “Sit down.” He sits down. Clark sighs. “I’m only going to say this once. If you have anything to disclose about your relationship with DS Miller, now is the time.”

“Oh, come on,” Hardy complains. “Why do people keep asking me that? So we have tea at each other’s houses on occasion. It doesn’t mean — ”

“Answer the question, DI Hardy,” Clark interrupts. “Are you having sex with DS Miller?”

Hardy’s shoulders slump. “No, I’m not.”

“Why were you at her house this morning? Or last night, for that matter. Neighbors put you there between seven and midnight.”

Hardy is going to  _ kill  _ Letchley. “Yes, we were working on a case. The burglaries.”

Clark arches an eyebrow. “’Til midnight?”

“We might have found a link to a cold case,” Hardy says defensively. “The robbery in Bothenhampton last year.”

“And this morning?”

Hardy is getting impatient. “Wanted to run an idea by her.”

“You took her breakfast. A latte and a scone? SOCO said you left the coffee on the baluster.”

Make that Letchley  _ and  _ Dirty Brian. “So what if I did?”

“How often do you see DS Miller outside of work? Swing by her house, bring her breakfast?”

“Dunno, a few times a week?” Hardy guesses, though as soon as he does, he knows he’s guessed wrong. It’s more often than that. He sighs. “So what? We work at her house when she hasn’t got child care.”

“I’m aware DS Miller is a single mum, yes.” Clark shuffles some papers on her desk. “A few months back, I seem to remember there was an incident with her younger son, Fred. Fell out of a tree, didn’t he?”

“I don’t know what that has to do with anything,” Hardy says grouchily.

“Were you aware one of the A&E doctors filed a complaint about you?” Hardy’s brow furrows. “Said you threatened him.”

Now Clark’s making him angry. “That’s not what happened.”

Clark crosses her arms. “Then why don’t you tell me what did happen, DI Hardy? Start at the beginning.”

He glares at her. “You mean start with why I was at her house that night.”

“Please.”

“Fine. We’d both been invited to Beth Latimer’s house. Little party to celebrate the May break. My Daisy wanted to go. Chloe Latimer is one of her mates. When we got there, all the mums were drinking wine.”

“Including DS Miller?” Hardy nods. “Was DS Miller drunk?”

“She’d had a few glasses, but I wouldn’t say she was drunk.”

“Were you drinking?”

Hardy shakes his head. “No, ma’am. Don’t drink much on account of my heart. Pacemaker, see.” He exhales. “So when the party started breakin’ up, I offered to walk DS Miller back to her house.”

“Because she had been drinking and you hadn’t.”

“Yes, and I wanted to make sure she and wee Fred got home OK,” Hardy says, nostrils flaring. “I didn’t take advantage of her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I wasn’t, DI Hardy,” Clark says smoothly. “Were you worried DS Miller was too drunk to care for Fred?”

Anger bubbles up in Hardy. “No, I wasn’t. Miller was a bit giggly, not unfit. And it’s not like she’d have been alone with Fred even if she was. Her boy Tom was with us. He’s more’n old enough to look after his brother.”

“Then why would she need someone to walk her home?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I was tryin’ to be nice? You’re always tellin’ me to be nicer to people. We walked across the field. Miller invited me in for a cuppa, told Fred he could play outside for another half hour. Tom went out with him. We could see them from the window. Got to talking about a case, lost track of time. Next thing I know, Tom’s shouting for us to come outside. They’d been climbin’ a tree they weren’t supposed to.”

“Why offer to drive DS Miller to A&E? Surely she’d had a chance to sober up a bit.”

Hardy stares at Clark. “I drove her because she was upset. I know you don’t have kids, but it’s bloody hard when they get hurt. You’d do anything to take away their pain. So I put her and Fred in the backseat — poor lad wouldn’t stop cryin’ — and sent Tom back to the Latimers’ to tell Daisy where I’d be. Told him to stay there. He was feelin’ bloody awful himself. Knew he’d let his mum down.”

“Tell me what happened at A&E, DI Hardy.”

“What do you think happened at A&E? We waited a bit. They X-rayed Fred’s arm. Splinted it. Told him to decide what color cast he wanted when his mum brought him back.”

“So at no point did you ask Dr. Cian Anderson for a word?”

Hardy sighs. “I did talk to Dr. Anderson in the hall, yeah.”

“And why was that, DI Hardy?”

“Because he was doin’ the same thing you’re doin’!” Hardy bursts. “Practically accused Miller of being an unfit mother, he did.”

“Did you raise your voice with Dr. Anderson?” Clark asks. “Flash your badge, perhaps?”

Hardy flops back in the chair. “I don’t remember if I showed him my badge. I told him he needed to be careful who he was accusin’ of neglect because there wasn’t a better mother to her boys than DS Miller.”

“I see,” Clark says.

“Why didn’t you tell me he lodged a complaint?”

“Because I assumed it happened more or less as you’ve described, DI Hardy. I saw no reason to trouble you at the time.”

“Then why bring it up now? Why waste my time with it when — ”

“I think you should sit this investigation out, DI Hardy,” Clark interrupts.

Hardy blinks. “What? No. No way. Miller needs me.”

Clark steeples her fingers. “I don’t disagree. She’s experienced a terrible trauma.  _ Another  _ terrible trauma. She’ll need the support of those closest to her to recover from.”

“Aye, and I’m going to catch the bastard who did this to her.”

“I’d like DCI Desai to oversee the investigation.”

Hardy stands up so fast he knocks his chair over. “No, you listen to me,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at Clark. “No one — not SOCO Young, not DS Letchley, not bloody DCI Desai — is as equipped as I am to solve this case. No one will fight as hard for DS Miller as I will. No one.”

His chest is heaving. If he doesn’t calm down, he’s going to get shocked.

“Are you done, DI Hardy?” Hardy nods. “Sit down.”

He does as he’s told. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Where in DS Miller’s house are SOCO going to find your DNA?”

Hardy scratches his chin. “Kitchen. Dining room. Probably the living room. I used the bathroom downstairs last night.”

“What about in DS Miller’s bedroom?”

“My prints’ll be on the handcuffs. I should’ve worn gloves, I know. Knew she’d been trussed up for hours at that point, wasn’t thinking straight.” Hardy swallows. “And I wrapped her in my jacket when SOCO arrived. She — she didn’t want anyone to see the injuries to her breasts. Bruises. Bite marks.”

“Understandable.” Clark pauses. “But we’re not going to find your DNA in her bed? No traces of semen, no — ”

“No.” 

Clark nods. “Then these will be the rules. You will report to DCI Desai. I’m giving you DS Letchley and DC Parry as well, though I can’t say for how long. This investigation is to be resolved quickly, do you understand me? The town will talk. We operate under the assumption that whoever raped DS Miller will attack other women if he isn’t caught. Let Nish handle the press. And Alec?”

Hardy looks up.

“You might not be having sex with Ellie, but the two of you are close. If at any point your feelings for her start to get in the way of this investigation, you come to me straightaway. You will not jeopardize a conviction.”

“’Course I won’t,” Hardy says, bristling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent the weekend writing like a mad woman, but the next update won't be as quick. Although story continues to haunt my waking hours, my boss still expects me to work for some reason.
> 
> Hang in there, everyone.
> 
> RAINN: 800-656-4673 (U.S.)
> 
> Rape Crisis England & Wales: <https://rapecrisis.org.uk/>


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CONTENT WARNING:** This chapter continues to detail the aftermath of a sexual assault, though in less detail than the first two chapters. There is a brief mention of pregnancy loss years earlier.

Hardy glares as Letchley as soon as the swab’s out of his mouth. “Were you tryin’ to choke me?”

“Just imagine how people feel when you do it, sir.”

Hardy glares at the detective sergeant. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Letchley peels off his gloves. “Overflowing with the milk of human kindness, you are.”

“I need to check on DS Miller,” Hardy snaps.

He expects her to be asleep on the couch in his office, but he finds Miller very much awake, clutching his trash can. “What’s wrong?” he asks, alarmed.

Miller shakes his head. “Bit nauseated, that’s all.” She looks up. “How’d your chat with Clark go?”

Hardy spares her the details. “Wants me to report to DCI Desai. Assigned DS Letchley and DC Parry to the case as well.”

“And me?”

“Paid leave through the end of the month. Longer if the Chief Medical Officer won’t clear you for light duty.”

Miller sighs.

Hardy isn’t sure what to say. “It’s going to take time for you to heal, Miller.”

“Remind me, how long did you work with untreated arrhythmia?”

Hardy sighs. “Can I get you anything?” he asks finally, for what feels like the hundredth time. “We both know your desk is full of snacks.”

“Told you, not hungry.”

“Not like you, Miller.”

“It’s the bloody morning-after pill. Made me sick the last time I took it, too. When was the last time you ate?”

Hardy scratches the back of his head.

“Wasn’t today, was it? Oh, fine. Go get us both a flapjack. Should be a box of them behind the digestives, back of the drawer.”

Hardy does as he’s told. He opens Miller’s oat bar for her, and they sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch, eating them.

“It was only once before,” Miller says after a few bites. Hardy stops chewing. “The morning-after pill. I don’t want you to think — ”

“I don’t,” he interrupts. He  _ doesn’t. _

Miller sets the flapjack aside. “I had two miscarriages between Tom and Fred.” Hardy doesn’t say anything. He’d figured that might’ve been the case, given the age difference. “I never went back on birth control because we knew we wanted another, just used condoms when we weren’t actively trying.”

“Miller,” Hardy says uncomfortably. “You don’t owe me an — ”

“Tom was seven when I had the second miscarriage. I’d just made DS, and it felt like I was always working. Would’ve been a bloody terrible time to get pregnant. So when the doctor said we could start trying again, I told Joe I wanted to wait. He said he understood. But when we had a condom break a few months later, he didn’t see what the big deal was. Joked it was the universe’s way of telling us to get back to it.”

Hardy sets his flapjack aside, too. “So you took the morning-after pill.” Miller nods. “Did you tell Joe?”

“No. I thought it would upset him.” She looks at her lap. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, other than I might as well get used to it, seeing as my sex life is about to become Crown’s evidence.”

“Don’t say that, Miller.”

“What? It’s true. And that’s only if I’m lucky. If I’m unlucky, it becomes evidence for the defense.” She glances sideways at him. “Do you think Joe could’ve done this?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

“Well, I didn’t think he was capable of killing Danny, so I’m asking you.” She pauses. “You know where he is, Hardy. I know you do.”

Hardy stares at his clasped hands. “I  _ knew _ where he was.” He exhales slowly. “Up until about a year ago, he was in Liverpool. Working at a shipyard as a security guard. Then Mark Latimer managed to track him down with the help of a private investigator. Must’ve spooked him because he vanished into thin air.”

“Vanished,” Miller repeats. Then she shoves him. “And you were planning to tell me when?”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to,” Hardy admits. “All signs point to him being in Ireland, but my contacts there haven’t been as cooperative. Brexit.” They both grimace.

“I don’t want it to be Joe,” Miller admits after a long silence. “Not this time. I don’t want it to be anyone I know.”

“Could be someone you arrested,” Hardy says. “Crime of opportunity, even.”

“But you don’t don’t think so.”

“He knew where you handcuffs were, Miller. This feels personal.”

She sniffs. “When can I go home?”

“Not sure,” Hardy admits. “I’ll find out if SOCO are done at your house.” He hesitates. “You can’t stay there, Miller. Not tonight. Not until we’ve changed all the locks and installed a security system. You’ll have to decide if you want to stay at Maggie and Jocelyn’s with Tom and Fred, or if you’d rather ... ”

“Rather what?”

“I’d rather you stay with me tonight,” Hardy blurts. He adds quickly, “In Daiz’s room, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Miller blows out a puff of air. “No need to post a uniform outside of Maggie and Jocelyn’s if I stay with you. Right then.” She nods once. “I’d step out if I were you, sir,” she says matter-of-factly.

Hardy stares at her. “It’s my office, Miller.”

“And I’m about to puke in it,” she says.

*

Miller spends the rest of the afternoon dozing fitfully in Hardy’s office. He feels sorry for her — in general, but also because he’s fallen asleep on that couch enough times to know it’s uncomfortable even without a dislocated shoulder. Normally, he’d want to be at the crime scene, but he doesn’t feel he can leave Miller.

So he sends Letchley back to Miller’s house with Desai, then drops a stack of files on Parry’s desk. “What’s this?” she asks.

“Every case Miller’s worked in the last six months. Any suspect that’s not in custody, I want a full accounting of their whereabouts between midnight and 7 a.m.”

Parry nods. “Not sure how long it’ll take me. Rest of the day? Tomorrow?” 

“And I need you to call Exeter. DS Miller was on loan for that homicide a few months back. Don’t tell them what happened to Miller. Just ... see if there’s anyone who came up in the course of the investigation that could be holding a grudge.”

“Do you know who the DI was?”

Hardy scrunches his face up in concentration. “Morton? No, Martin. DI Martin.”

Parry glances at his closed office door. “How’s Ellie?”

He’s saved by his mobile. “Hardy,” he answers, tapping the stack of files as he walks away from Parry’s desk.

“DI Hardy? It’s Sahana Harrison with Wessex Rape Response.”

Hardy stops with his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”

“I have an ISVA who’s been trying to get in touch with DS Miller, but I’m not sure we have the right number.”

Hardy leans against his door. “No, it’s not that,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think she has her mobile. Bit of a chaotic scene this morning.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“I can get a message to her.”

“Would you? ISVA’s name is Nita.” _Nita._ Hardy squeezes his eyes closed, trying to memorize the name. “Nita Pandya.” _Nita Pandya._ He’s never going to remember. “Normally we like our ISVAs to make contact within 24 hours.”

Hardy opens his eyes. “She can come round tonight if she wants.” He gives her his address and hangs up.

Then he sets off to find Dirty Brian.

The SOCO is in the basement, unloading a box of evidence. “Miller’s phone,” Hardy says. “Do you have it?”

“Don’t think we bagged it. You don’t have it?”

Hardy shakes his head. “No.”

“Where would it have been?”

“Dunno. Kitchen? Dining room?” He rubs his hand over his mouth. “She says the initial attack was downstairs.”

Dirty Brian nods. “The evidence supports that.” He starts pulling bags from the box.

Hardy crosses his arms. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t mean anything. The evidence supports that she was attacked downstairs.” A pause. “She didn’t have a concussion, did she?”

“No, she didn’t. Wait, how’d you know?”

Dirty Brian shrugs. “I saw the gash on her temple when the paramedics were bringing her down. There was blood on the corner of one of the kitchen cabinets, a few hairs. Nothing definitive, but they were curly like Ellie’s.”

“How’d you know she didn’t have a concussion?” Hardy asks again.

“If she was attacked from behind while standing at the sink, she would’ve pitched forward and caught her head on that cabinet. Would’ve bled like crazy, but it probably wouldn’t’ve knocked her out.”

Hardy bites his lip. “Go on.”

“There was a trail of blood from the kitchen to the living room, then up the stairs into her bedroom.” Dirty Brian shakes his head. “Poor Ell. She must’ve been so scared.” He places the last evidence bag on the counter. It contains a pair of women’s pants. “Does she — does she know who did this?”

Hardy shakes his head. “Didn’t get a good look at his face. Says he was wearing some kind of face covering. Balaclava, maybe.”

“How was she handcuffed? When you found her, were her wrists crossed?”

“What do you mean?”

Dirty Brian holds up his arms. “Like this?” Hardy shakes his head. “Like this?”

“No, more like — ” Hardy raises his own arms “ — this.” He quickly lowers them, feeling like he’s just betrayed Miller.

“Right, it was the right shoulder that was dislocated. FME’s initial report just landed in my inbox.” Dirty Brian scratches his chin. “The way she would’ve been cuffed, she might not have seen him. He would’ve been behind her.” Hardy closes his eyes. “Sorry.”

Hardy opens his eyes. “No. It’s fine. She already told me.”

Dirty Brian crosses his arms. “None of this is fine, DI Hardy.”

“No, it’s not.” Hardy swallows. “Thank you ... Brian.”

*

“Olly took you where?” Miller says when Maggie puts Fred on the phone. She laughs at whatever the wee lad says. “Oh, Freddie,” she breathes, “be a good boy for Auntie Maggie and Auntie Jocelyn, OK? When will you see me?” She hesitates, if only for a second. “Tomorrow. Yes, I promise. Of course I love you! Even more than chocolate. Put your brother on the — ” 

Miller sighs. “He hung up on me.”

“Well, he’s six,” Hardy says reasonably from his kitchen. His mobile rings again.

Miller answers it. “There you are, Tom. How was London?”

Hardy gives her a close-mouthed smile and steps back into the kitchen to give her some privacy. He opens his fridge.

It’s empty, save for a carton of milk he’d bought before moving Daisy to Swansea.

Hardy sighs. He closes the fridge and walks back into the living room. Miller is holding his phone. “What am I going to tell him?” she asks. “He’s already suspicious.”

“Tom?” Hardy guess. Miller nods. “Er — ”

“How am I going to explain this thing on my arm? And who knows how long it’ll be before we can sleep at the house?”

Hardy takes his phone from her. “I don’t know, Miller. I’d tell you if I did.” He pauses. “I’m sorry.”

“Figure it out tomorrow, I suppose.” Miller nods once. “Hey, did SOCO find my phone? Last I had it was in the dining room, before ... well, you know.” Hardy bows his head. “Answer me, Hardy. Have SOCO got my phone or not?”

“Er,” says Hardy. “Not.”

Miller looks at him incredulously. “And you were planning to tell me when?” she demands. He has a sinking feeling that the only reason she’s not gotten in his face is because it hurts to stands up.

“Tonight, soon as I had tracking data,” Hardy swears. He still doesn’t.

Miller harrumphs. “You should have told me,” she says crossly. “Soon as you realized.”

Hardy is still working out how to tell her they’re already making mistakes when there’s a knock on the sliding glass door. A young Indian woman with her hair in a long plait waves.

“Hardy, who’s that?”

He grimaces. “Your ISVA. Did I forget to mention she was going to stop by?”

“Why are  _ you _ talking to  _ my  _ ISVA? That’s not how this is supposed to —  _ hello,” _ Miller greets Nita, a smile plastered on her face. 

“DS Miller? Ellie Miller?” Nita asks. Miller nods. “My name is Nita. I’m with Wessex Rape Response. I’m your — ”

“ISVA, I know.” Miller glares at Hardy. “Nice to meet you. Thank you for coming.”

Nita looks from Miller to Hardy. “Is now a bad time? I can come — ”

“Now’s fine,” Miller grits. “Some privacy, perhaps?”

“Of course,” Hardy says quickly. He weighs his options. There’s no reason to think Miller won’t be safe with the ISVA for an hour while it’s light out. He could buy groceries, pick up a few things at the pharmacy to make her stay more comfortable. “I need to get us something to eat anyway.”

Miller shakes her head. “Still not hungry,” she says in a tone that tells him there’s a bollocking in his future.

“Aye, we’ll see how you feel when I get back,” he says lightly. “You’ve got my number?” Nita nods.

Hardy drives to the big Boots in Bridport where he’s less likely to be recognized, even manages to find the women’s health section.

But when it comes right down to it, he has no idea what Miller actually needs. As soon as the pharmacist starts walking his way, Hardy bolts. From his car, he calls the only person who might be able to help him.

“She hasn’t called me, Alec,” Tess says without so much as a hello. “She’s at uni, meeting people, making friends. Maybe going to class on occasion. Though I suppose they don’t start ’til next week.”

Hardy blinks. “I — I didn’t call to talk about Daiz.” He isn’t about to tell Tess he’s spoken to their daughter in the past week.

“OK.” When he doesn’t say anything, Tess continues, “What is it, Alec?”

“It’s — well, it’s — ” Hardy pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Out with it,” Tess prompts. “It’s half six, and I haven’t seen Dave all day.”

“Don’t you live together?”

“I lived with you, and we used to go days without seeing each other,” Tess points out. “Well?”

Hardy sighs. “When you were healing up after havin’ Daiz, you bought some ... pads? D’you remember if they were hemorrhoid pads, or — ”

“Alec, that was eighteen years ago!”

“It’s for a case,” Hardy says. “Now, were they hemorrhoid or witch hazel?”

“They’re the same product,” Tess says with a sigh. “Hemorrhoid pads, postpartum pads. Either’ll work.” She pauses. “Why not ask Ellie? She’s a mum, isn’t she?”

Hardy doesn’t say anything. “Thanks, Tess. Hope you and Dave have — ”

“Oh, don’t you dare, Alec. Why are you really calling me?”

“I told you, it’s for a case.”

“Oh my God,” Tess says suddenly. “Oh my God, it’s Ellie, isn’t it? The chief super asked me this afternoon if I could spare anyone to cover the leave of a rural DS who’d been raped in her home. Didn’t say it was Wessex. I wouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss her if I’d known.”

Hardy closes his eyes. “It was,” he confirms. He hears Tess cover her mouth.

“Oh, Alec. I’m so sorry. How are you holding up?”

He tenses. “How am I holding up? Don’t you mean how is she holding up?”

“She’s your partner, Alec.” He doesn’t say anything.  _ “Alec.” _

“I’m scared, Tess,” he admits. “What if I don’t catch the bastard? She’s never going to feel safe again.” He swallows. “I keep thinking about — he handcuffed her to her bed, Tess. You should see her. Covered in cuts and bruises, dislocated her shoulder. Fought like hell. Didn’t matter. He still raped her.”

They’re both silent. Hardy is pretty sure he hears Tess shush Dave when he comes in. “Where is Ellie?”

“My house. Left her with the ISVA.”

“Where are  _ you?” _

“Boots parking lot.”

“Right then. Who told you to get the witch hazel pads?”

“FME.”

“Chrissakes, Alec, were you there during the exam?” Tess doesn’t pause. “Of course you were. Please tell me you were a slightly more sensitive git than you normally are.”

“I’m not a complete bastard. Held her hand.”

“You held her hand,” Tess repeats, shaking her head. “Alec, this isn’t going to work. You can’t investigate her rape and support her at the same time.”

“She doesn’t have anyone else, Tess.”

“Daiz says Ellie knows everyone and everyone knows Ellie. Sounds to me like she has all of Broadchurch.”

“That’s not the same as having friends and you know it.”

“Since when have you had friends?”

“She’s my partner, Tess.”

“Like I was your partner once upon a time? Alec, you’re in a Boots parking lot buying witch hazel pads for a woman who didn’t just give birth to your child. That’s a purchase strictly for husbands and boyfriends.”

Hardy bristles. “Are you tellin’ me not to take care of her, Tess?”

“I’m telling you if you can’t be honest with her, at least be honest with yourself!” On the other end of the line, Tess lets out a long-suffering sigh. “No, Dave, it’s fine. I’ll only be a minute longer.” Hardy doesn’t say anything. “Alec, are you still there?”

“Aye.” He grips his phone more tightly. “I found her this morning, Tess. We were up late workin’ on a case, and I’d left all the files there. Had a theory I wanted to run by her.”

It’s a long time before either of them speaks. “Get her the witch hazel pads. Brand shouldn’t matter. A toothbrush, since I’m sure she’s staying tonight. Soap, shampoo and conditioner. Separate products, Alec. She is a woman. She is having a  _ very _ bad day. She does not want to wash her hair with Carex. Buy her digestives.” Hardy scrambles for a pen. “Chocolate digestives. Actually, buy her chocolate digestives  _ and _ chocolate. Good chocolate. Spend at least a tenner. Are you writing this down?”

“Tryin’ to,” Hardy says, flexing the hand he’d punched the wall with earlier. “Hand cramped up on me. Good chocolate, got it. Even if she’s feeling nauseated?”

“Even if she’s feeling nauseated,” Tess confirms. “Though you’ll also want to get her cream crackers and Sprite.” She hesitates. “Maxi towels. She’s had stitches, hasn’t she?” 

“Yeah.”

“God, Alec. I am so sorry. Poor Ellie. Poor you.” Tess clears her throat. “Oh, and an ice pack. Make that two ice packs, one for her and one for you, since we both know you punched a wall today.”

Hardy blinks. “How’d you know that?”

“’Cause you did the same thing when that scrawny little shit shivved me in Croydon.” 

“I did, didn’t I?”

“It’s what made me marry you,” Tess replies fondly. “Take care of Ellie, Alec, but don’t forget to take care of yourself.” There’s an unmistakable sniff. “My chicken vindaloo’s going to be cold.”

“Give my best to Dave,” Hardy says automatically.

“You hate Dave.”

“I do, he’s a wanker.”

“Tell her how you feel, Alec,” Tess says, and she hangs up the call.

*

Hardy catches Nita as she’s leaving. “Look, I know you can’t tell me what she said to you, and I don’t expect you to,” he says. “But is there anything I should do? Anything that would make this easier for her?”

Nita, who’d about to get into her car, holds onto the door. “She didn’t tell me all that much, actually.” She glances up at the house. “Seems to think other women need ISVAs, not her.”

“Really, she said that?”

“You know I can’t tell you.” Nita nods at the Boots bag dangling from his fingertips. “Is that chocolate I spy? She’ll love you.” She smiles. “Really, I’m glad she has such a supportive boyfriend.”

Hardy’s face creases in consternation. “No, no. I’m her partner.”

“No, no, you’re right,” Nita says quickly. “She said the same thing. My apologies. Well, I hope the two of you can get some sleep. Follow her lead, yeah? Men often want to give their partners space after something like this happens. Be respectful. But that’s not always what the woman wants. So don’t be surprised if she asks you to hold her or wants to cuddle tonight. It’s her way of making sure you’re still attracted — what is it, sir?”

Because Hardy is pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, no, no. I’m her partner as in we work together. She’s my DS. I’m her boss.”

Nita covers her mouth. “Oh my goodness. I am so mortified right now. I just assumed — the way she was talking about — please forget I said anything, sir.”

Hardy tries to smile, grits his teeth, gives up. “Well. G’night.”

Miller is still sitting on the couch where he left her. “What have you got there?”

“Fish ’n chips.”

“You hate fish ’n chips. You’re a bloody terrible Scot.”

Hardy shrugs. “You don’t.”

“I told you, I’m not hungry.”

Hardy locks the door, taking in the setting sun. “You have to eat, Miller,” he says finally. “Your body’s been through hell and back. You need sustenance. Please eat.”

“Oh, fine. But you’re holding my hair back if I puke again,” she says waspishly. There’s rustling as she unwraps the takeaway. “What about you, huh? At least I had dinosaur chicken nuggets and ice cream before this all began.”

She’s right. Other than a few bites of flapjack, Hardy hasn’t eaten since yesterday either. “I’ll eat, too.” The sun sinks below the horizon. He sits down next to her and unwraps his meal. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been through hell and back.”

“Thought you’d throw me out of my own house if I said you’d been through a terrible trauma.” Hardy eats a chip. It’s not bad. 

Miller bumps his shoulder with hers. “That’s what the ISVA kept saying.”

“So did Clark.”

Miller picks up a chip, then sets it back on the wrapper. “Tell me the truth. Will any of them ever look me in the eye again?”

“Miller, look at me.” She does. “I’m looking you in the eye right now, aren’t I?”

She shakes her head. “I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve locked the door when you left. I should’ve — ”

“You should’ve been safe,” Hardy interrupts. “You did nothing wrong, Miller. You should’ve been safe. In your home, leaving the pub, doesn’t matter. Men shouldn’t rape. Period. End of story. Eat some chips.”

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Hardy places his hand on her good shoulder and shakes it, he hopes, affectionately. “We’ll be OK, Miller.”

“What’s in the Boots bag?”

“Er, those pads the doctor told you to use. Toiletries. Thought you might want to shower. Chocolate. Oh, and ice packs. I should put those in the freezer, actually.”

“You should put one on your hand. Your knuckles are bruised. Did you punch a wall or DS Letchley?”

“Wish I’d punched DS Letchley,” Hardy mutters, getting up to put the ice packs away. 

“He’s nice, you know,” Miller says when he comes back. “DS Letchley. Ewan. You know he’s getting a divorce?” Hardy shakes his head. “Worried he won’t get to see his daughter as often he’d like. He’s not biologically Ewan’s. He and his husband used a surrogate.”

“Letchley’s gay?”

“You know, for a detective, you’re not very observant,” Miller says. She still hasn’t touched her chips. “I would like to shower.”

Hardy nods. “I’ll get you clean towels. And I’ll change the sheets on Daiz’s bed. There’s a spare set around here somewhere.”

Miller looks at her lap. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to manage,” she says quietly. “With my shoulder, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to manage a shower.”

“Do you — do you want me to call someone?” Hardy asks finally. Miller doesn’t answer. “Or I could — I could help you. Draw you a bath. Wash your hair.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t,” Hardy says. “I want to, though, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Bit weird,” Miller says thoughtfully.

But twenty minutes later, he’s helping guide her sweatshirt over her head. Her shoulder is purple-red beneath it. Now that he knows to look for them, he sees the bruises on her flanks where she’d been repeatedly punched. Another bite mark he hadn’t noticed in her bedroom. Hardy swallows, steadying Miller while she pushes down her joggers, then her pants.

She laughs nervously. “I’m naked, and you’re still wearing a bloody tie.”

“Going to take it off,” Hardy says. “And my dress shirt. So they don’t get wet.” He begins unbuttoning his shirt.

“The ISVA thought you were my boyfriend,” Miller says suddenly. “Can you believe that? I didn’t correct her. She’s right out of uni. I think I’m her first-ever client.”

Hardy isn’t about to tell Miller people have been making assumptions about their relationship all day, not when he’s trying to make sure she doesn’t slip getting into the tub. She winces as she lowers herself into the water.

“Too cold? Too warm?”

Miller shakes her head. “Just sore.” Hell and back, all right. “Thank you, Alec.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Daiz always used to complain I’d get soap in her eyes.” He squirts shampoo into his palm. There’s still blood matted in Miller’s hair.

“Wish I could have gone to the Tides. They’d have helped me shower there.”

“Didn’t think they could treat your shoulder.”

“No, they’re not set up for that.” Miller hums as he rinses the shampoo from her hair. “I think Dr. Anderson remembered us from Fred. You must’ve given him quite the bollocking.” It takes Hardy a second. Right. The orthopaedist. People, names — those are the things she’s good at, not him. “I never thanked you for defending me. Probably because I felt like an unfit mother.”

“Kids fall out of trees, Miller. Skin knees, break bones. S’all part of growing up.” He hands her the bar of pink soap he bought at the pharmacy, then wipes his hand on a towel.

“Who told you what to buy? Tess?”

Hardy sighs. “Do you want me to step out while you wash?”

“Just for a minute. I’ll need your help getting out. You’re right. You’re a bit sturdier than a toothpick.”

Hardy changes into pyjama pants and a clean t-shirt. He grabs the same for Miller in case she doesn’t want to put the clothes SOCO picked out for her back on. He pads back across the hallway, knocks once and enters.

Miller sniffs like she’s been crying. “There you are.”

He helps her get out of the bathtub and offers her his clothes. She takes the t-shirt.

“I’ll wear my own pants, thanks,” she says cheerfully, though of course she needs help stepping into them. “Won’t be sad when I can dress myself again. Think I ought to sleep in the sling?”

“Dunno.”

Then Miller bites her lip. “Sir, I don’t really want to sleep alone.”

That’s it. Hardy stops mentally searching for extra sheets. He just leads her to his room and tucks her into bed. “Make yourself comfortable. I can sleep on top of the covers if you want me to.” He already knows she won’t ask him to. “Just let me call Daiz real quick, then I’ll be in.”

He leaves Daisy a message: “Hi, Daisy, it’s your dad. I know you’re probably out with Bea and Hattie, and I’m turning in early tonight, so you don’t have to call me back. But if you could call your mum tomorrow, she misses you. I miss you, too, Daiz. I miss you singin’ along to Taylor Swift and makin’ me come home at a reasonable hour.” Hardy pauses. There’s so much he wants to say. “Be careful, darling. I love you.”

His phone buzzes twice in rapid succession.

_ out with bea and hattie and paul _

_ ugh dad ur leaving a voicemail aren’t you _

Another buzz. This time, it’s a selfie of a smiling Daisy with Bea, Hattie and the aforementioned Paul. Whatsit, the cheeky one.

_ call your mother tomorrow _

_ do I have to _

_ if you want me to top off your mobile _

_ DAD _

Hardy gets in bed with Miller. He can tell she’s having trouble getting comfortable. He gets up, goes to Daisy’s room and comes back with another pillow for Miller to prop herself up on. 

“Daisy met a boy when we were movin’ her in. Paul. Dad’s a detective in Exeter.”

“Surprised you haven’t put him under surveillance.”

“Don’t know his last name.”

“It’s Lloyd. His dad’s DS Frank Lloyd and his mum Karen’s a schoolteacher. He has two younger sisters, Maisie and Poppy, and he’s studying — damn, I can’t remember if it’s computer science or engineering. And I was on a roll, too.”

Hardy groans. “Why are you like this, Miller? Why do you know everyone?”

“Gift, I suppose. They had me ’round for dinner, one of the nights I couldn’t make it back to Broadchurch. Paul seemed nice. Cleared the dishes when his mother asked, more’n I can say for Tom.”

“Tess thinks he’s cheeky.”

“He’s a teenage boy. ’Course he’s cheeky.”

Hardy rolls onto his side, looking up at her on her stack of pillows. Even in the dark, he can see her face is etched with pain. “I worry he won’t respect her.”

“You’re right to.” There’s a pause. “Sorry. I’m not trying to worry you, I’m — ”

He reaches over and squeezes her left hand. “You’re fine, Miller.” Earlier, she’d called him Alec. He wonders if he ought to be making an effort to call her Ellie. “Get some sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tess telling Hardy to buy separate products might be my new favorite line I've ever written.
> 
> RAINN: 800-656-4673 (U.S.)
> 
> Rape Crisis England & Wales: https://rapecrisis.org.uk/


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CONTENT WARNING:** This chapter deals with the aftermath of a violent sexual assault. It also depicts journalists behaving unethically.

“Trish Winterman told Leah she was raped the day after she reported it to us,” Miller says the next morning over breakfast. “Tom’s nearly the same age. Do you think it’s different if it’s your daughter, though?”

Hardy, who’d been trying to get through his email before he has to drive Miller to the CID for her ABE interview, looks up from his computer. “Dunno,” he says when he realizes she’s expecting an answer. Neither of them had slept that well. He’d had the dream again, the one where he finds Pippa in the water.

Only last night the bloated body he’d pulled from the river had been Miller’s. 

Of course, Miller’s sitting across from him, drinking her second cup of tea. “I know I should tell him before he finds out from someone else,” she continues. “Just not sure how he’ll react is all.”

Hardy rubs the back of his neck. “Aye, Tom’s a good lad,” he assures her, and he assures himself this will be nothing like Sandbrook.

“You always say that,” Miller says finally. “Why do you always say that? ‘Aye, Tom’s a good lad.’ No he isn’t. Excluded from school for distributing pornography. Caught him sneaking out last week, I did. Third time this summer that’s happened. Not to mention perjury.”

“Why’s he sneaking out?” 

“See Maddie, I expect.”

“Aye, well, just a lad, then,” Hardy replies.

Miller glares at him. “You did not just tell me boys will be boys.”

Hardy knows he’s just going to get himself in trouble if he keeps talking, so he pushes his glasses back up his nose and clicks on an email that’s just arrived from DCI Desai.

“I know it shouldn’t bother me that she lives over on the council estate, but it does. Doesn’t seem to have a curfew, and it’s only going to get worse when term starts because she isn’t — what is it? Why are you making that face?”

“I’m not making a face,” Hardy insists. He tries to keep his face expressionless as he rereads the email.

“Yes, you are. It’s the face you make when someone’s done something stupid at work,” she says, helping herself to the last piece of toast.

“It’s just my face, Miller.” He pulls off his glasses, rubbing his temples. “DCI Desai has called a news conference for this afternoon.”

Miller sets down the toast. “We’ve some really stupid colleagues,” she says. “Well, go on, then. What information will they be releasing?”

Hardy turns his computer so she can read the draft of the media release. “Nothing that identifies you as Wessex Police.”

“I’d bloody hope not, seeing as I’m still the only female DS at the Broadchurch CID,” Miller snaps as she reads through the copy. “Let’s see, 44-year-old Broadchurch woman — oh God, I’d forgotten I had a birthday — attacked in her Village Grove residence, single mother of two — well, that shouldn’t take anyone long to figure out.”

“Don’t worry, I’m telling Desai he needs to do more to protect your privacy. Get rid of the street name, number of children — ”

“Still me,” she interrupts.

“I know, Miller.” He glances at the half-eaten piece of toast. “Mind if I?”

“But you don’t eat.”

Hardy shrugs. “Sometimes I do,” he says, taking a bite.

“I can’t believe you just nicked my toast,” Miller complains.

“I made it,” Hardy points out.

“Yes, for me!” she says.

Hardy clears their dishes. Now if he can just keep Miller eating and bickering. 

*

Miller’s ABE interview lasts nearly two hours. By the time Letchley stops the video camera, she’s cried her red-rimmed eyes dry. Hardy feels sick all over again. 

For a moment, no one speaks.

“Right then,” Miller says, rising from the little couch with a grimace of pain. “Just going to use the ladies.”

Nita reaches for her purse. “Mind if I join you?”

“Good job, Ellie,” Letchley says as they file out of Hardy’s office. “Really good job.” He closes the door behind him and sniffs. There aren’t any tissues left to offer him. Not that Hardy does that sort of thing.

He picks up his glasses, twisting the earpiece between his thumb and forefinger. “Somehow worse’n I’d imagined,” he says finally.

Letchley is staring at his clasped hands. “Yeah.” He looks up. “Do you think Joe Miller did this?”

“Dunno.”

“Does  _ Ellie  _ think he did this?”

Hardy stops swinging his glasses. “You heard her statement, DS Letchley. She didn’t get a good look at her attacker.” He pauses. “How well’d you know him, anyway?”

“Joe? Not as well as I thought I did.” Letchley exhales. “We were in the same cycling club. I suppose that makes us mates. Terry spent more time with him than I ever did.”

“Terry?”

Letchley smiles, tight-lipped. “Yeah, Terry. My husband? Well, he’s about to be my ex-husband.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Hardy says because he’s supposed to.

“Nah, don’t be,” Letchley says with a wave of his hand. “He’s a prat, and I’m glad to be rid of him. Just wish he wasn’t trying to keep Caitlin from me. Our daughter,” he explains.

“Whatever’s happenin’ at home, Letchley, I need you focused. This afternoon DCI Desai is going to tell the press that a Broadchurch woman was raped in her own home. It hasn’t yet been declared a Gold Incident, but it will be. I don’t know if this was a premeditated attack or an unusually brutal crime of opportunity, but we have a responsibility. Not just to DS Miller.”

“Understood, sir.”

“You saw the initial report from the FME?” Letchley nods. “Then you know he left DNA everywhere. If Joe Miller’s DNA is still in the database and he didn’t do this, we should be able to clear him pretty quickly.” Hardy rubs his mouth. “If it’s been expunged, we have our work cut out for us trying to get another sample because I don’t know where Joe Miller is.” Hardy hesitates. “And there’s something else.”

“What is it?” Letchley asks.

“Technically Miller’s still married to Joe. If she’d divorced him, he might’ve gotten custody of — ”

Letchley holds up his hand. “Say no more.” He shakes his head. “I always knew Ellie was tough, but Christ.” He stands. “I’ll go put that request now. If it isn’t Joe’s DNA at the crime scene, Parry said she’d have that list of suspects from previous cases by mid-afternoon.”

“Thanks, Letchley.” Hardy pauses. “And for what it’s worth, good luck. With your little girl, I mean. I missed so much of my Daiz’s childhood, fightin’ with her mom. Can’t ever get those years back. But I got lucky. We were able to patch things up, Daiz and me. Don’t get along with the ex-wife.” He wonders, though, if that’s still the case with Tess.

At any rate, Letchley chuckles. “I needed to hear that.” He pauses. “You should check on DS Miller, sir.”

Hardy blinks. “You think so?” He answers his own question. “Yeah, I should.” He stands up. “Right.”

He finds Miller in the ladies, holding onto a sink. “Took you long enough,” she sniffs as Hardy navigates around the wet floor sign, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Where’s Nita?” he asks.

“Threw her out, didn’t I?” The mirror reflects Miller wiping away a tear with her knuckle. “Told her what I needed was space.”

“I’ll go.”

“Not you.” She turns to face him, the harsh fluorescent light turning the bruises on her cheek green. “I’ll take that hug now, if you don’t mind.”

It takes him a second to remember his clumsy offer at Wessex Crown Court when Joe pleaded not guilty. Hardy pulls his hands from his pockets and opens his arms to her. “C’mere, Miller.”

She tucks herself under his chin. “Why me?” she asks, her voice muffled by his shirt. Hardy shakes his head. “I feel so unclean. Like it won’t ever come off, no matter how hard I scrub.” Hardy breathes in the smell of the shampoo he’d bought her,  _ leaves curls hydrated, bouncy and defined.  _ “I had the perfect life, Hardy. How’d it go so wrong?”

He has no idea what he should say. “You’ll feel better once you’ve had a chance to bathe properly. Maggie’ll do a better job than I did.”

“You didn’t do a bad job.” There’s a pause. Softly, she says, “I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”

The line has moved and smudged so much over the years Hardy isn’t sure if it’s even there anymore. “Stop apologizin’, Miller.”

Miller nods, drawing back, though his arms remain around her. She sniffs again. “Do you have time to take me to Maggie and Jocelyn’s? I’ve decided I need to tell Tom.”

It breaks the spell. Hardy glances at his watch. It’s already noon, and the news conference is scheduled for 1:30 p.m. “I’ll make time.”

*

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Hardy freezes at the sound of Jocelyn’s voice. “Didn’t realize you would be here.”

The corners of the solicitor’s mouth turn up. “I live here, Alec.” She motions for him to follow her back to her office, which he reluctantly does. “Well, sit down.”

“I should really be getting back to — ”

“Sit down, Alec. You owe me that much.” As if on cue, there’s a peal of laughter from the kitchen, where Maggie and Fred aren’t so much baking cookies as having a flour fight. “And no, not being able to see the mess does not make it better.”

Hardy knows when he’s been cornered. He lowers himself into one of the leather armchairs. “Well, it’ll only be for a couple of days.”

“I’m not sure Maggie will give Fred back, to be quite honest.” Jocelyn pauses. “You need to recuse yourself from this case, Alec.”

He blinks. “No. I can’t do that, sorry.”

“You need to tell Ellie how you feel, and you need to recuse yourself from this case.”

“Tell Ellie — ” Hardy pinches the bridge of his nose “ — what’s there to tell? I don’t feel —  _ anything _ for Miller. We work together. That’s all.”

Jocelyn arches an eyebrow, her gaze fixed somewhere above Hardy’s right shoulder. “You don’t feel anything for the woman you moved back to Broadchurch for?”

“I didn’t move back to Broadchurch for her,” Hardy says reflexively.

“Alec, the last time you and I hid from everyone else in here, you sat in that chair and told me you moved back to Broadchurch because you missed her more than you hated the sea. Granted, we were commiserating over a 25-year-old Bowmore, but the heart wants what it wants.”

Hardy exhales slowly. He remembers that night. Well, most of it. Maggie and Jocelyn — but really Maggie — had thrown Miller a surprise birthday do. She’d had quite a lot of wine already when Beth started playing UB40 songs for the middle-aged partygoers.

_ “Dance with me, Hardy!” Miller crows, seizing his hand and dragging him to the side of the living room that’s been designated the dance floor. _

_ She looks so beautiful with her head thrown back in laughter that he bolts before the chorus of “I Got You Babe” has faded. _

_ Turns out, he isn’t the only one who’s hiding. _

_ “I rather prefer the Sonny and Cher version,” Jocelyn says, pouring Hardy a scotch. “Maggie, though, she’s always had a bit of a thing for Chrissie Hynde.” She smiles. “Chin up, Alec. At least it wasn’t ‘Red, Red Wine.’” _

_ Hardy’s already had two glasses of red wine — two more than he usually does — but he takes a sip anyway. “Do you ever miss the peace and quiet?” _

_ “Sometimes.” Jocelyn looks thoughtful. “But you know what I don’t miss?” Hardy shakes his head. “The loneliness. I’ll suffer through dinner parties and Maggie’s phone buzzing a thousand times a day to wake up every morning with the woman I love.” _

_ Hardy plays with his glass. “Not sure what I’ll do when Daiz leaves in a few months. She keeps joking she’ll have to text me reminders to eat and sleep.” _

_ “And what do you say?” _

_ “That I’ve got Miller for that.” _

_ Jocelyn huffs a laugh. “You have got each other, haven’t you?” Hardy doesn’t say anything, just takes another sip. “What was it a smart man told me once? Ah, yes. That it wasn’t too late to tell the person I loved how I felt. I don’t regret it, Alec.” _

_ “It’s not like that.” _

_ “Then what is it like?” _

_ “Why do I feel like I’m being cross-examined?” Hardy complains. _

_ “Why’d you really come back to Broadchurch, Alec? And don’t tell me for Daisy or to get away from your ex-wife. You came back because you missed her. Because you spent two years ignoring her calls and texts and still couldn’t put her out of your mind.” _

_ “That’s not why I — ” Hardy scrunches up his face. That’s exactly why he’d come back. Finally, he nods. “I’ve never met anyone bloody like her. The whole time I was away, I was hoping she’d leave Broadchurch so I could follow her somewhere other than this stupid seaside town. Way she solved Sandbrook, she could be a DI anywhere. Why Broadchurch?” _

_ “Broadchurch is her home,” Jocelyn points out. _

_ “She’s too good for Broadchurch,” Hardy continues, well on his way to drunk. “Thinks she owes this town something because of what Joe did. But she doesn’t owe this town anything. In fact, Broadchurch owes her.” _

_ “Are you finished?” Jocelyn asks. _

_ Hardy knocks back the rest of his scotch. It burns all the way down. “Now I am.”  _

_ “Then listen. Ellie doesn’t owe Broadchurch anything.” _

_ “Aye.” _

_ “But you owe her the truth. You have to tell her how you feel, Alec. Before it’s too late.” _

_ Hardy shakes his head. “It’s already too late,” he says, rising unsteadily to his feet. _

_ “It wasn’t for me and Maggie,” Jocelyn says, taking the whisky bottle away before he can pour himself another drink. “Your heart, Alec,” she reminds him. “Sit a while and sober up.” _

“Fine,” Hardy concedes.  _ “Fine.  _ So I care about her, so what? I don’t see how that disqualifies me from the investigation.”

“You’re always telling her not to get involved,” Jocelyn reminds him.

The rage he’d suppressed during Miller’s ABE interview washes over him. “Oh yeah? He restrained her with her own handcuffs, Jocelyn. He  _ raped  _ her.  _ Repeatedly.  _ How am I not supposed to get involved, huh? Stand by while someone else — ” he breaks off. “You didn’t know.”

Jocelyn lowers the hand she’d raised to cover her mouth. “Maggie only said she’d been attacked. Startled a burglar, we thought.”

Hardy shakes his head. “Took her fifteen minutes to calm Fred and Tom down when she walked in with her arm in a sling. Black eye, stitches where he slammed her head into the cabinets.” He hesitates, then decides Jocelyn ought to know. “She thinks it might’ve been Joe. Didn’t get a good look at him, though, and the only time he opened his mouth was to call her a slag.”

“Then you have another reason to recuse yourself, Alec. If it is Joe, and this goes to trial, the defense will have a field day with you and your feelings.”

“That’s why I can’t tell her.” Hardy hangs his head. “How I feel, why I came back — it’s all wrapped up in it. Rumors and innuendo. She’s had enough of that for a lifetime.”

“Well, you know what Maggie would say. ‘Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, petal.’” Jocelyn stands up. “You have a news conference to get to, but I’m sure I’ll see you tonight.” She squeezes his shoulder as she passes. “And you never know, Alec. She may feel the same way.”

*

Hardy stands behind Desai on the steps of the Broadchurch CID. Desai glances over his shoulder. Hardy nods.

“Right then,” Desai mutters as cameras click. “Good afternoon. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Nish Desai. Behind me is DI Alec Hardy. Thank you for coming today.

“Sometime after midnight on Wednesday 23rd August, a 44-year-old woman was attacked, restrained and raped in her Broadchurch home. We are currently pursuing a number of lines of enquiry. If you have any information about Wednesday’s attack, or information about any other sexual assaults in the area, please contact the police.

“This was an especially brutal attack. We cannot exclude the possibility that the attacker has raped before — or that he will rape again. Again, we ask that you contact the police if you have any information that could lead to an arrest. If you have been sexually assaulted or raped, we urge you to come forward. You will be believed. We will investigate. 

“Finally, we would ask that you remain vigilant. If anyone you know begins to act suspiciously, Wessex Police would like to know. Your information will be treated with the strictest confidence. And until we can catch the person responsible, please consider your personal safety. Don’t forget to lock your doors and secure your home at night. I will take your — ”

The journalists shout over each other.

“Where in Broadchurch did the attack occur?”

“Was the attacker the Broadchurch Burglar?”

“Yeah, was anything stolen?”

“Did — ”

“One at a time!” Desai commands. “The attack occurred on the Village Grove Estate.” Hardy closes his eyes. So much for Miller’s privacy. “We are exploring possible links between this attack and the spate of recent break-ins. We know that the attacker entered through an unlocked door, but it’s not clear if anything was taken. Who’s next?” He points to a balding cameraman. “Identify yourself.”

“Ged Woodward, Channel 4 News. Did the woman sustain any injuries in the attack?”

“Yes,” Desai confirms. “Although I cannot provide specifics, I can confirm that the injuries she sustained were consistent with a prolonged sexual attack and matched both her account of the attack and the evidence we have collected so far.” 

“And how severe were those — ”

“Maggie,” Desai interrupts. “Your turn.”

Maggie extends her microphone. “Maggie Radcliffe, The Record podcast. What can you tell us about the timeline so far?”

Desai nods. “We believe the attacker entered the woman’s home between midnight and 2 a.m. The attack may have lasted as long as three hours. The woman was discovered around half seven, and an ambulance was dispatched at 7:40 a.m.”

“When you say discovered — ”

“Who found her?”

“Did she live alone?”

“Is it possible there were two — ”

Desai ignores all the shouted questions and points to a woman with dishwater brown hair and a square jaw. “Caroline Hughes, Herald Media Group. Is it true that the woman who was attacked is a detective sergeant at the Broadchurch CID?”

*

Hardy storms back into the CID in a fine rage. “Which one of you incompetent wankers told the journalist?” he demands. “Huh?”

No one says anything.

“Was it you?” Hardy demands, rounding on Parry, who’s closest. “Did you call up bloody Caroline Hughes and tell her what happened to DS Miller?”

Parry’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head vehemently. “N-no,” she stammers.

Hardy glares at Letchley. “What about you? Did you — ”

Desai steers Hardy into his own office before he can get into anyone else’s face and closes the door. He sighs, crossing his arms. “Alec, that wasn’t helpful.”

Hardy crosses his arms, too. “How did she know? Who told her?”

“Neighbor’d be my guess,” Desai says with a shrug. “Ewan and I took 17 statements yesterday, and SOCO were in and out of Ellie’s house all day.”

“You could’ve done more to deny it,” Hardy grouses.

Desai arches his eyebrows. “Do you want to try that again?”

Hardy leaves without answering. “Parry!” he barks, beckoning for her to follow him into the kitchen. He pretends not to see the sympathetic smile she gets from Letchley.

“Yes, sir?” Parry asks tentatively, watching him slam two mugs onto the counter.

Hardy rips open two teabags. “Tell me what the neighbors said,” he says, filling the mugs with water.

“Sorry, sir, I’m still putting together the report. I’ve been going through Miller’s old cases, like you — ”

“I didn’t ask when you’d be done with the report, I asked what the neighbors had to say,” Hardy snaps, punching in the time on the microwave.

Parry shakes her head. “Not much, unfortunately. The most anyone could remember was a light on in the kitchen, though nearly everyone who saw it said that wasn’t unusual.”

“How many saw it?”

“Five or six?” Parry guesses. She ticks the witnesses off on her fingers. “The next door neighbor, the neighbor behind, a couple across the way — they’ve a newborn, so they were both up.”

“That’s four.”

“Give me a — oh, and a repairman on a call out, though I’m still working my way through his interview.” Before Hardy can ask, Parry says, “Desai interviewed him, sir.”

The microwave beeps. “What else?” Hardy asks, ripping open a sugar packet and adding half of it to one of the mugs.

Parry bites her lip. “The next door neighbor, Mildred Hatcher. She, er, made a point to tell Letchley you’d been by the night before.” 

Hardy splashes milk into both mugs irritably. “Did she now?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Parry continues, “She says you’re there a lot, sir. Evenings. Weekends. Says you even do the school run sometimes.” Hardy doesn’t say anything. He just takes a sip of tea. “Well, is that true, sir?”

“Why don’t you just ask me if I’m having sex with DS Miller, DC Parry?”

“That’s not what — are you?”

“No.”

Parry exhales. “I was actually going to say maybe he was watching the house. You left at half eleven?” Hardy nods. “Well, the neighbors all seemed to know the boys were away. Said they hadn’t seen them playing football on the green in several days. Maybe — maybe he was watching the house. Saw you leave, knew she’d be alone.”

Hardy’d had the same thought. “Send me a list of neighbors to follow up with, will you?”

“Of course, sir.” Parry’s eyes flicker to the untouched mug of tea on the counter. “Who’d you make the other cuppa for?”

Hardy blinks. He’d made it for Miller, but she isn’t there to drink it.

*

Hardy spends the rest of the afternoon running down witnesses with Letchley. They re-interview Mildred Hatcher and leave a note for the young couple across the street to call them. Gerald Peaks of number four confirms that Miller’s kitchen light was still on when he went to sleep at two. 

“Thought the two of you might’ve been up working on a case,” he says. “If I’d have known — ” he shakes his head. 

To his credit, Letchley manages to identify two more potential witnesses. The first, an elderly woman on oxygen, mostly wants to complain about the noise Tom and Fred make when they’re playing football on the green.

The second, a rideshare driver, proves more fruitful. When Letchley knocks on his window to ask if he’s ever dropped off there before, he nods. “Tuesday night I did.”

Hardy and Letchley exchange a look. Hardy nods. “What time?” Letchley asks.

The driver sighs. “Can this stay between us? Because it didn’t come through the app. A bloke I’d given a ride to earlier in the evening said he’d give me 20 quid if I picked him up after last call.”

“And you’re not supposed to do that,” Letchley surmises.

“No, but most of the fares around here are shit. Have to drive somewhere else to make any money. That’s usually what I do on weekends. Bristol or Southampton, usually, though last weekend I went into London.”

“How’d you make out?” Letchley wants to know.

At the same time, Hardy asks, “What time on Tuesday?”

The driver is starting to look nervous. “Am I in trouble?” Neither detective answers him. He swallows. “It was 9 o’clock or thereabouts. Took him to the Serpent & Eel. Here, I can show you in the app.”

A minute later, Letchley and Hardy are staring at a thumbnail of a big, bearded bloke with 4.6 stars.  _ Devin M. _ “Good passenger?” Letchley asks.

“Er, not exactly. We drivers tend to rate passengers pretty high. Anything below 4.8 is like a warning, actually.”

Letchley crosses his arms. “And this Devin M., should you have heeded the warning?”

The driver nods. “I didn’t expect him to be sober when I picked him up, but he was out of his tree. Completely legless.”

“Why not renege?”

“I showed you his picture, he was a big guy. Not to mention plastered.” The driver shakes his head. “Suppose I felt sorry for him. He’d told me on the way to the pub he’d gotten into a fight with his wife about whether they should let their new little one cry it out. I’m a father myself.”

Again, Hardy and Letchley exchange a look. “Which house?” Hardy asks.

The driver points not to the young couple’s home but the house two doors down.

“And your name?”

There’s a pause. “I’d rather — ”

“We’re investigating an assault,” Hardy reminds the driver.

Finally, he nods. “It’s Townley. Stephen Townley. I live in Bothenhampton with my wife and two daughters.”

Letchley taps the roof of the Ford Fiesta. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Townley.”

They watch Townley drive off.

“Number five, the new parents. What’re their names?”

Letchley checks the notes. “Monses,” he says grimly. “Devin and Carla.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I'm gonna be honest with y'all: I love writing journalists behaving badly, even though I complain constantly about how they're depicted in TV and movies. I've been a reporter for the last 13 years, and more of us are like Maggie than Caroline.
> 
> That said, the British press operates VERY differently than American news outlets. If it's not obvious, I'm an American, though I lived in London and wrote for an American media company for a time about a decade ago. So my belated apologies for anything I've gotten wrong (and feel free to Brit pick in the comments).
> 
> Chapter five might be slightly delayed as I've been churning story after story for work. I have a whole week off in March, though!


	5. Chapter 5

Letchley surprises Hardy again two hours later when he turns up at the CID with Thai food and hands one of the containers to Hardy. 

“I thought you’d left for the evening,” Hardy says, sniffing the carton suspiciously. “Pad Thai?”

Letchley nods, taking a seat on Hardy’s couch. “Seemed safest.” Then, reflexively, “Sorry, you’d probably have preferred the chippy.”

“No, actually.”

Letchley frowns. “But you always go to the chippy.”

Hardy thinks about absently making the cup of tea earlier. He pulls off his glasses. “Someone’s lying. Either the Uber driver — ”

“ — or the Monses,” Letchley finishes. 

“When’s last call at the Serpent & Eel?”

“One?” Letchley guesses, pulling out his phone. Hardy surreptitiously checks his own phone to see if he’s gotten a text from the pay-as-you-go phone Maggie’d set up for Miller. “No, three. God, that’s late. I don’t think I’ve been out past ten since Cait was born.”

Hardy flips through the notes. “Carla Monses tells Parry she noticed the light was on during the baby’s 2 a.m. feeding. Devin Monses chimes in to say it was still on when he got up with the baby at half three.”

“Except if Stephen Townley is to be believed, Devin Monses wasn’t in any condition to be up with the baby.” Letchley chews thoughtfully. “Suppose he could still have seen the light on at Ellie’s at half three, though.”

“Do we know what time the light was turned off?”

“Only that Carla Monses didn’t notice it at half four.”

_ “Says _ she didn’t notice it,” Hardy corrects. “But she didn’t mention her husband was out when the attack was happening.”

“Well, we’ll go back over there tomorrow, see what Devin has to say for himself. If he really was at the pub, people will have seen him.” There’s a pause. “Still think it was Joe?”

“Never said that. You asked me if I thought Joe could’ve done this, and I told you I didn’t know. I still don’t know. All I know is Devin Monses didn’t tell the truth yesterday. Why?” Hardy pinches the bridge of his nose. “And Stephen Townley.”

“What about him?”

“Would you drive a drunk home for a score?”

“If my family needed the money,” Letchley says with a shrug. “You should’ve let him answer my question about last weekend.”

“And what would that have told us?” Hardy counters.

“Well, it’s not uncommon for rideshare drivers to do exactly what he says he does. They get more fares in the cities. Sleep in their cars, come home Sunday set for the week. If he’d just been to London, why was he driving ’round Broadchurch on Tuesday until last call if most fares are shit?”

“Holidaymakers?"

Letchley’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’ve never been in the Serpent & Eel, have you?”

“I take it I’m not missing out.”

“It’s where you go in Broadchurch if you’re looking to hook up,” Letchley says matter-of-factly. “I — oh, hell. I met Terry there, years ago.”

Hardy blinks. “Your ex-husband.”

“Soon-to-be,” Letchley says.

“So’s it a gay bar?” Hardy asks, suddenly very interested in his pad Thai. He sneaks a glance at Letchley.

“In this town?” Letchley chuckles, clearly amused by the thought of a gay bar in Broadchurch. “Though it started as a mariner bar. These days, it’s mostly divorcées.”

Hardy rubs his mouth. “We need to find out if Devin Monses was stepping out on his wife. If he was at the Serpent & Eel until last call.” Somewhere beneath all the paperwork, his phone buzzes. It takes all of his willpower not to sweep everything off his desk looking for it.

Unfortunately, Letchley notices. “You should get that. What if it’s Ellie?” He clears his throat. “I can swing by the Serpent & Eel, sir. See if the husband made it to last call.” 

Hardy watches Letchley stand up to throw away his empty carton. “You never wanted to work late when we were on the Simpson case. You were gone by half five most days.”

“Yeah, well, Terry and I were still trying to work things out, weren’t we?” Letchley says without a hint of embarrassment. Hardy’s phone buzzes again. “Where is Ellie, anyway? SOCO aren’t finished with her house, are they?”

Hardy locates his phone. “No.” Sure enough, he has two texts from Miller. “Er, she and the boys are staying at Jocelyn Knight’s for the time being.”

“No kidding?” Before Hardy can nod, Letchley’s eyes bulge. “Wait, isn’t that Maggie Radcliffe’s partner?”

“Aye, she was baking cookies with wee Fred when I dropped Miller off.” Hardy looks at his phone. 

_ pint of double chocolate fudge ripple _

_ Maggie and Jocelyn only have mint chip, the monsters _

When he looks up, Letchley is still looking at him incredulously. “Maggie Radcliffe. Who used to work at the Broadchurch Echo. Who was at the news conference.” Hardy nods. “And you were yelling at me ’n Parry about the press?” 

“Used to,” Hardy points out. “She’s got her own true crime podcast now. Why would she tell a competitor what happened to Miller when she hasn’t released any details herself?”

Letchley must not have an argument for that because he clears his throat. “Well, how is she, Ellie?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Hardy says, “Asking if I’ll bring her ice cream. Double chocolate fudge ripple, from that new place on the pier.” 

“I’ve been meaning to take Cait. She loves ice cream. I have her for a few hours on Sunday. Maybe we’ll check it out then.” Letchley reaches for the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn it. “You need to tell me if at any point your relationship with Ellie could jeopardize this investigation.”

This time, Hardy doesn’t even try to deny it. “It won’t,” he assures Letchley. He clears his throat. “Check out the Serpent & Eel, if you don’t mind. I need to — ”

“ — get home,” Letchley finishes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”

“Call me if it turns out Monses wasn’t at the pub.”

Letchley leaves Hardy’s office. His phone buzzes again.

_ nevermind, Maddie’s working tonight so Tom’s offered to go _

*

Hardy goes to the pier anyway. He figures Miller’s ice cream will be melted if she has to wait for Tom to snog his girlfriend first.

Sure enough, he finds the lad leaning over the counter at Scoops Up, holding hands with the redhead at the register. Hardy clears his throat.

Tom jumps back. “Hi, Hardy,” he says sheepishly.

“Can I help you?” Maddie squeaks, cheeks as red as her hair.

“It’s all right, Mads,” Tom reassures her. “I know him. He works with Mum.”

Hardy pulls out his wallet. “Pint of double chocolate fudge ripple,” he says.

“You don’t have to,” Tom says quickly. “I was just about to head back.” Hardy arches an eyebrow. “Well, in ten minutes or so.”

“Tell you what,” Hardy says, glancing at his watch. It’s half eight. “I’ll take your mum her ice cream, let the two of you catch up. Does half nine seem fair?”

Tom looks torn. Finally, he says, “Nah, I should go. Mum told me nine.”

Hardy pays for the pint. “Nice to meet you,” he tells Maddie, who’s still avoiding eye contact.

Tom doesn’t seem concerned. He leans over the counter to kiss her cheek. “I’m at the arcade tomorrow afternoon. I’ll try to take my break at half three. Will I see you?”

Maddie nods.

Outside the ice cream shop, Tom tries to take the pint from Hardy. “I can take it to her.”

Hardy shrugs. “S’OK. I need to brief your mum anyway.”

Tom jogs just ahead of Hardy and stops, facing the detective with his arms crossed. “She told me what happened.” His eyes flicker to his trainers, then back up. “Is she going to be OK?”

“Your mum’s tough,” Hardy says as they split a throng of holidaymakers. It’s dusk, and the pier is still crowded, so he steers Tom by the shoulders to an unoccupied bench. “What about you? You OK?”

Tom shakes his head slightly. “I should’ve been there. I could have stopped it.” He swallows. “She said she didn’t see — didn’t see her — ”

“No,” Hardy confirms so Tom won’t have to say it.

“But I could tell there was somethin’ she wasn’t telling me.” Tom pulls his sleeve over his hand and hastily wipes his eyes. “It was Dad, wasn’t it?”

Hardy can hear his own heartbeat. “Dunno.” He hesitates before slinging an arm over the back of the bench. Not quite around Tom, but the sentiment’s there. It’s not the first time it’s occurred to Hardy that he’s the closest thing to a father figure Miller’s boys have. It’s easier with Fred, who doesn’t really remember Joe, but Hardy wonders if Tom still resents him for arresting his dad. “We’ll have to track him down, figure out if he was anywhere near Broadchurch Tuesday night.”

Tom bites his lip. “If I tell you something, can you promise not to tell Mum?”

Hardy tenses. “I can’t, Tom. I’m sorry. Technically, I shouldn’t even be talking to you without an appropriate adult.”

“I thought — I thought I saw him the other day. Dad. Hereabouts, the pier.”

Hardy’s arm slides off the bench. “When was this?”

“Er, start of the summer hols? Well, closer to then than now.” Term starts in two weeks. “I’d only just met Maddie, hadn’t told her about Dad yet.”

“Tom, I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”

“Maddie’d taken her break up at the arcade. It was getting dark, so my manager let me walk her back to the ice cream shop. That’s when I saw him. Or I thought I saw him. It didn’t register right away. By the time I looked back, he had gone. And it might not have been him.” Tom forces himself to smile. “Maybe I was just seein’ Nige Carter.”

Hardy can’t tell Tom it wasn’t Nige, who’s serving six months in Wessex Prison for affray. He clasps his hands. “Why didn’t you tell your mum, Tom?”

“Didn’t want to worry her,” Tom mumbles, staring at his shoes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tom looks up. “Didn’t want to worry you.”

Hardy nods. “You should’ve, though. She doesn’t want Joe contacting you or Fred, and for good reason. Your dad’s not stable, Tom. He could hurt you.”

“Sounds like he’s already hurt Mum.”

“That’s the only time you’ve seen him in Broadchurch, though? He hasn’t been creeping around your school, has he? Or the skate park or Fred’s primary? Tried to call or make contact online?”

“She’s always checking my phone,” Tom reminds Hardy. “And no, I haven’t seen him since the trial. I’m not even sure if it  _ was _ him.”

Hardy isn’t sure how he’s going to break it to Miller. “Thank you for letting me know.” He slaps his knee. “We should get your mum her ice cream before it’s chocolate soup.” He rises.

Tom doesn’t. “There’s something else.” He nods several times, like he’s trying to psych himself into telling Hardy whatever it is. “Not really anyone else I can talk to. Not Granddad — ” the lad shudders “ — and not Olly. Well, maybe Olly. But I don’t know if he knows about Mum.”

Judging by the three calls Hardy missed this afternoon, Olly knows. “What is it?”

Tom exhales a shuddering breath. “Some of the — the photos Michael Lucas gave me, they were of women who’d been tied up.” Hardy already knows this, of course. “I watched a couple of them. None of the really violent ones,” he adds quickly. “But some of the ones where the women seemed to be enjoying themselves. They weren’t, were they?”

Hardy stares out at the sea. “No,” he tells Tom, sitting back down next to him. “They probably weren’t.”

It’s a long time before either of them speak. “I don’t want to — I’m  _ not _ like that,” Tom insists. “I’d never do those things to Maddie. Mum told me to always ask a girl if what we’re doin’ is all right. And I always ask Maddie.  _ Always.” _

Hardy scrunches up his face. “Tom,” he says wearily, “are you’n Maddie ... ?"

“No,” Tom says quickly. Too quickly.

“Tom.”

“We do ... stuff,” Tom admits. “We’re not having sex, though.” He pauses. “Not yet, anyway.”

Hardy rubs his mouth. “Your mum won’t be happy if she finds out.”

“Are you going to tell her?” Tom asks anxiously.

Hardy considers it. “No,” he says finally. “Your mum doesn’t need anything else to worry about right now. She needs to rest and heal. I have to tell her you might have seen your dad, though.”

“I understand.”

Hardy hesitates. He knows what he needs to say to Tom, but it still feels like overstepping. “Is Maddie 16?” Tom nods. “Then the law says you’re both old enough to consent. You use a condom every time, Tom. I mean it. That’s your responsibility. And you encourage Maddie to get contraception from her GP or the community health clinic in Bridport. It’s confidential. They won’t tell her parents.”

Tom looks equal parts mortified and mollified. “Thanks, Hardy. I think.”

Hardy shakes Tom’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you — ” he almost says  _ home  _ but catches himself just in time “ — back to Maggie and Jocelyn’s before we’re both in trouble.”

They stand. “Shoot,” Tom says when he sees there’s a puddle of chocolate where the pint had sat. “Mum’s ice cream.”

Hardy reaches for his wallet, hands Tom a tenner. “Tell you what, you run back into the shop, and I’ll handle your mum.”

“Deal,” Tom says.

*

“Down the hall, second door on the left,” Maggie says when Hardy arrives at her and Jocelyn’s. “But keep your voice down, Fred’s asleep upstairs and I’m about to record a minisode.” She calls after him, “I heard that sigh!”

Hardy raps on the second door on the left. “It’s me, Miller.”

“And here I thought it might be my offspring with the ice cream he promised me.” She’s sitting upright in bed with what look like the files from the Simpson case and a sleeve of chocolate digestives.

“Are you supposed to have these?” Hardy asks, picking up one of the crime scene photos. “And why do you need ice cream if you’ve got digestives?” He looks around for a place to sit, but the bed is the only option. 

Miller glares at him. “I don’t need both, I want both. And just for that, I’m not sharing.” She starts stacking and moving the case files so he can sit down. “As for whether I’m supposed to have these, I convinced Dirty Brian I was.”

Hardy sits tentatively. “SOCO Young brought you these?”

Miller gives him a funny look. “Are we not calling him Dirty Brian anymore? And yes, he did. He rang this afternoon, offering to gather some clothes and toiletries for me. I asked him if he needed me to inventory these case files since I had them last.” She pauses. “I think he’s single again.”

Hardy isn’t sure how to react until Miller giggles.  _ “Dirty Brian,” _ he quacks, which sets off another fit of giggles. It’s been a long day for both of them.

Once they’ve gotten it out of their systems, though, Hardy reaches for Miller’s hand. “I need to tell you something.”

Miller exhales. “OK.”

“Tom thinks he might’ve seen Joe on the pier a few weeks back.” He quickly fills her in on their conversation outside the ice cream shop.

“He should have told me,” Miller huffs. “I’m his mum. How can I protect him if he doesn’t tell me these things?”

Hardy stares at their clasped hands. “Miller — Ellie. He said the same thing. Said if he’d been there, he’d have stopped it.”

Miller squeezes her eyes closed and nods. “That’s what he told me, too. God, what would I have done if they’d been there? As bad as it was, at least I knew they were safe.”

There’s a knock on the door. “Mum?”

Hardy quickly lets go of her hand. Tom enters with the pint of ice cream and two spoons. “Sorry it took me so long.”

Miller takes the ice cream from Tom as well as the spoon he tries to hand Hardy. “Nope, I don’t share double chocolate fudge ripple.” She holds the carton but doesn’t open it. “Tom, when were you going to tell me you saw your father?”

The teenager hangs his head. “I didn’t want to scare you,” he mumbles. “I knew you’d freak out if he was back in Broadchurch.” He tilts his face up.

Miller strokes her son’s cheek. “If you see him again, Tom, you have to tell me. OK?”

Tom nods. His mother kisses him. “Now go away. DI Hardy and I have lots to discuss.”

The corners of Tom’s mouth turn up. “What, you don’t love me more than chocolate?”

“Not more than  _ this _ chocolate,” Miller replies. When Tom’s left, she shakes her head. “Cheeky, isn’t he?”

“Aye, but a wise woman once told me all lads are.” Hardy opens the ice cream for her. “How’s your shoulder?” She doesn’t answer. He sighs. “Miller.”

“Why am I only Ellie when you’ve bad news about Joe, huh?” She stabs her spoon into the ice cream. “And you might as well take off your jacket, since you’ll probably be here for a while.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Hardy nods. He shrugs out of his jacket, loosens his tie, rolls up his sleeves. “So was anything missing from the Simpson case file?” he asks, easing back onto the bed.

“Not a thing,” Miller says, shaking her head. She winces.

“Shoulder?”

“Been twinging all day.”

“Can I do anything?”

“You can tell me about the investigation.”

Hardy leans back on his elbow. “Do you know much about your across-the-street neighbors, the Monses?”

“Carla and Devin?” Hardy nods. “Let’s see. They bought the place about a year ago. It had been on the market for quite some time. The woman who lived there’s been in a home for ages. Harbor Town, same as Dad, though she’s in the memory care wing. Anyway, her kids listed it for £599,000, and Beth and I think the Monses paid about that. Overpaid, if you ask me.”

Not that long ago, he’d have told her to get to the point already. But tonight he lets her talk. “What do they do?” he asks, idly flipping through the FME’s report from the Simpson case.

“He’s an architect,” Miller says matter-of-factly. “She makes candles. Sells them online for 50 quid apiece.”

Hardy looks up. “I’m sorry, Miller, did you say candles?”

“You missed the part where people pay 50 quid for them. Apparently they’re made from 100% soy wax. Really posh. Anyway, she interrupted last month’s meeting of the Broadchurch Single Mums Club, which is just Beth and me drinking margaritas in the garden. Carla told us all about her plans to make all of Olivia’s baby food. Meanwhile I’m wondering if chips count as a vegetable because otherwise I haven’t fed my boys one in over a week.”

“So that’s the mum. What about the dad, Devin? And how old’s the baby?”

“Four months?” Miller guesses. “Don’t know much about him. Works for one of the big London firms, I’d know the name if I heard it. Remotely, of course. I’d like working in my pyjamas, I think.” She sets the empty ice cream carton on the nightstand. “So what did they see?”

“Well, yesterday they told Desai and Parry that they both got up with the baby multiple times. Saw your kitchen light on at two and half three, but not at half four. The kitchen light was off when SOCO arrived Wednesday morning, so — ”

“ — so he must’ve turned it off, seeing as I was handcuffed to my bed,” Miller finishes. “Sorry. That was a bit glib, wasn’t it? Glossed over that part when I told Tom.”

“You’re fine, Miller.” Hardy clears his throat. “Devin Monses wasn’t telling the whole truth, though. Letchley and I stopped an Uber driver this afternoon who says he picked up Devin Monses a little after nine, took him to the Serpent & Eel, brought him back after last call. No record of the return trip. Claims to have been working under the table.”

“Last call at the Serpent & Eel’s late, too.” Miller rolls her eyes. “Poured Luce into the car after it enough times, certainly.”

Hardy isn’t about to mention the time Lucy called him for a ride. “The Uber driver called Monses a big guy. How big are we talking?”

“Your height, but a good seven or eight stone heavier.”

Hardy looks down. “If the Uber driver is to be believed, Monses wasn’t home when you were — when it was happening. But that doesn’t mean he was at the pub the whole time, either.” He glances up at her.

Miller shakes her head. “No, it wasn’t Devin. His hair’s longish, and he has that beard. And I don’t think whoever — well, he wasn’t that big. And he didn’t have facial hair.”

Hardy wants to cover her hand with his, but he can’t. Not when she forgot to mention that particular detail in her ABE interview. “Miller,” he says hesitantly, “how do you know he didn’t have facial hair? You said this morning your — that his face, it was covered the whole — ”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me Miller,” she snaps. “And you can call him my rapist. You want to, I can tell.”

“I don’t — ”

“And just because I forgot to mention something in the ABE interview doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“I know,” Hardy says quickly. “I know, Ellie. I believe you.”

She nods. “Bit weird, isn’t it?”

“You’re the one who asked me to stop calling you Miller,” he points out.

“I didn’t expect you to switch to Ellie. Figured you’d, I don’t know, just look at me when you were talking? Wouldn’t want to create some sort of false intimacy.”

It takes him several seconds to work out she’s only teasing. “Made quite the impression that night, didn’t I?” Hardy asks ruefully.

“You really did.” She bites her lip. “It’s his name. Miller. It’s his name. I kept it because of the boys. Didn’t think it was fair that I could go back to Barrett if I wanted but they had to keep using his name. I decided I wouldn’t let it bother me, and I didn’t. Until now.”

Hardy scoots down the mattress towards her, putting his hand on her uninjured shoulder. “If this was Joe, I will make sure he can’t hurt you again. OK? This time, we’ll nail him.” He pauses. “Ellie.”

She laughs through her tears. “Congrats, you remembered my name.” Then she nods. “Right. I’m confident Devin Monses didn’t attack me. But if he arrived home at half three, he might’ve seen something.”

Hardy remembers Letchley was going to swing by the pub. He lets go of Miller —  _ Ellie _ — and reaches for his phone in his jacket pocket. He sees Letchley’s sent him a picture of a till receipt. He shows it to her.

“Hmm,” she says. “Bought rounds at 1:16, 1:45 and 2:28. I expect you’ll still want to talk to him, though.”

Hardy nods. It’s half ten. “I should go,” he says, a bit reluctantly.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You must be dead on your feet, Alec.”

“M’fine,” he insists.

“Oh, bloody hell, that was me asking you to stay, you knob.”

Hardy blinks. “I haven’t got anything with me,” he points out.

“So? Sleep in your undershirt and pants.” He stares at her. “No? Well, at least help me put away these case files before you go.”

Hardy does as he’s told. He puts the Simpson case files back into the evidence box.

Then he kicks off his shoes, peels off his socks and unbuttons his shirt. He can feel her eyes on him as he unbuckles his belt. Off go his trousers. He walks over to the door and turns off the lights.

He walks around to the other side of the bed and gets under the covers with her. The sheets are covered in crumbs. “Blargh,” he complains. “This is why you don’t eat digestives in bed.”

He isn’t expecting her to roll towards him and lay her head on his chest, tucking her injured shoulder between his torso and left arm. Or maybe he was. Maybe this always was inevitable.

“Sorry, it’s just my — ”

“You’re fine,” he assures her, and he wraps his arm around her uninjured shoulder. Then he notices the moisture on his shirt. She’s crying. He frowns. “What’s — did I do something wrong?”

She shakes her head. “This wasn’t how we were supposed to figure this out.” She sniffs. “Good night, Alec.”

He tangles his fingers in her soft curls. This is what he wanted, isn’t it?

So why does he feel so bloody awful?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the lovely comments! Small fandoms are so wonderful.
> 
> And thanks, as always, to [lazaefair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazaefair), my partner and forever beta. She has her work cut out for her with this one, as my name is Elle but pronounced Ellie ... and I'm not a great speller to begin with.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CONTENT WARNING:** This chapter reveals new details about Ellie's rape and her injuries. It also features two male detective discussing how the system minimizes the experiences of survivors of rape and domestic abuse.

The next morning, Hardy stands at the end of Devin Monses’ drive, arms crossed, surveying the taped-off crime scene across the street. “Something I ought to tell you,” he says to Letchley.

Letchley, who’s chewing the last bite of a bacon sarnie, covers his mouth with his hand. “What is it?”

Hardy looks down. “She says it wasn’t Devin Monses.”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah,” Hardy confirms, not sure why he can’t just call her that when she’s asked him to. “Says her attacker didn’t have long hair or a beard.”

After a moment, Letchley says, “Thought she didn’t see his face.”

Hardy glances up at the other detective. “We believe victims,” he reminds Letchley.  _ And Joe Miller doesn’t have any hair. _

“’Course we do,” Letchley says quickly. There’s a pause. “Isn’t that the suit you wore yesterday?”

Hardy glares at Letchley. “C’mon,” he says, beckoning for Letchley to follow him.

Ten minutes later, Carla Monses is serving them tea, all the while glaring daggers at her husband.

“Maybe it would be best if you took Olivia upstairs,” Devin Monses suggests to his wife.

“This is your fault,” she tells him as she scoops up the wee hairless bairn. It’s got one of those headbands with the flowers on, like Tess used to stick on Daisy. Carla turns to the detectives. “He’s got a drinking problem,” she says matter-of-factly.

Then she’s gone.

Hardy runs a thumb over the curvature of the teacup but doesn’t drink. It’s a delicate little thing, nothing like the chipped mugs in the CID kitchen he and Miller usually drink from. He catches Letchley’s eye and nods.

Letchley downs the rest of his tea and sets the empty cup onto the saucer. “Well?” he asks, looking at Monses expectantly. “Do you?”

Monses winces, massaging the back of his head. “S’not a problem,” he mutters, pulling up a chair kitty corner. “Carla’s just mad I went out with the lads.”

“This was Tuesday night?” Letchley asks. Monses nods. “Tuesday night, when you told DCI Desai you were up with your daughter half the night?” The big man squirms. “That’s what I thought.”

Hardy clasps his hands in front of him. “How well do you know your neighbor, DS Ellie Miller?”

Monses crosses his arms. “Not well.”

Letchley crosses his, too. “Why not? It’s a friendly estate.” No answer. “What about your other neighbors? Do you know them?” Nothing. “Do you not like cops, Mr. Monses?”

Monses sighs. “What did she tell you, before I came down?”

Letchley glances over at Hardy. “I believe her exact words were, ‘I told him not to lie to you.’”

“You see, your wife didn’t lie to us,” Hardy says. “She didn’t say you’d gone out, but she didn’t say you were here, either.  _ ‘I _ fed the baby.  _ I _ got up with Olive.’”

“Olivia,” Letchley and Monses correct. Letchley clears his throat. “Why’d you go out on Tuesday, Devin? Because your Uber driver said you’d had a row with your wife. Picked you up two doors down, even.”

“Did he, now?” Monses’ arms are still crossed.

Letchley points a thumb at his own chest. “Look, I’ve got a daughter. Bit older than Olivia now, she is, but I haven’t forgotten what the first year’s like. Sleepless nights, and your wife’s not the woman you married.” He jerks his thumb over to Hardy. “Hell, Hardy here’s daughter’s grown, but I bet he remembers, too.”

Hardy isn’t expecting Letchley to tread on his foot. He manages to turn his  _ “ouch” _ into an  _ “aye,”  _ but he isn’t sure what Letchley’s playing at.

Finally, some of the tension leaves Monses’ jaw, and he unfurls, shaking his head. “All she talks about is Olivia. Olivia this, Olivia that, Olivia’s poop was green last night, and do you think we ought to — ” he breaks off, scratching his beard. “I don’t give a damn if she makes Olivia’s food or buys it at Sainsbury’s.”

“What did you and Carla fight about on Tuesday?” Hardy asks.

“I told you, I met some mates at the pub.”

“And Carla, does she not like these mates?” Letchley wants to know.

“Doesn’t know ’em.”

“Why not?” Letchley presses.

Monses shrugs. “Wouldn’t approve of them.”

Hardy’s thumb is skimming the teacup again. He’s fast losing interest in what Devin Monses has to say and wishes Letchley would get to the bloody point. “Why wouldn’t your wife approve of them?” he asks in a bored, disinterested tone in an attempt to get Letchley to hurry up.

Letchley leans forward. “Yeah, why wouldn’t your wife approve of them, Devin? It’s Broadchurch. You’re not going to get in the kind of trouble here you did in London.”

Monses stands up so fast he nearly knocks the chair over.  _ “That was not my fault,” _ he hisses, pointing his finger at Letchley.  _ “How was I supposed to know she was a copper?” _

*

Hardy drags Letchley into the Millers’ garden as soon as they’re done with Monses. He jabs his finger at Letchley’s chest. “When were you planning to tell me he tried to sexually assault a police officer?”

Letchley crosses his arms. “When you came clean about where you slept last night.”

Hardy turns away, hands on his hips. “For God’s sakes, Letchley, she was raped!” He rubs his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fine. I stayed over. Happy?”

“Why?”

“Because she felt unsafe!”

“Where’d you sleep?”

“Why’s it — I am your superior officer!”

But Letchley doesn’t back down. “Where’d you sleep, Hardy?” he asks again.

Hardy exhales. Finally, he nods. “I shared the guest bed with Ellie. OK? I went in to talk to her. She had the Simpson case files, the ones we’d gone over Tuesday. SOCO Young wanted her to make sure nothin’ was missing. I asked her about her neighbors.”

It’s a long time before Letchley says, “Ellie.”

“Don’t you dare ask me if we had sex,” Hardy seethes. “Your little ruse back there? Monses might think you have a wife, but we both know you don’t know  _ anything  _ about women. Ellie is  _ healing, _ and you know what? It wouldn’t matter even if she weren’t — ” there’s a jolt beneath his breastbone “ — because that’s not our relationship.”

And he sits down shakily in one of the wicker chairs.

Letchley sits down, too. He reaches for Hardy’s shoulder. “Pacemaker?” he asks. Hardy nods. “Do I need to ring for an ambulance?”

Hardy shakes his head, rubbing his sternum. “Nah, just give me a minute.” 

“Do you want me to tell you what I dug up on Devin Monses while you catch your breath?”

“Go on, then.”

Letchley nods once. “Right. Had a little chat with the bartender at the Serpent & Eel last night, said Monses has been coming on and off for the last year. In the beginning it was almost every night, then it tapered off while Carla was on bedrest, then Olivia was born and no Monses until Tuesday. Anyway, he’s a morose drunk. Told the bartender they had to move to Broadchurch because he’d gotten himself in some trouble in London.”

White-hot rage fills Hardy. “Some trouble? Some trouble? Letchley, he would’ve raped her!” 

In Monses’ version of events, he’d picked up a woman at a bar, and they’d stumbled into an alley to have sex.

Only the woman was an undercover cop, and she’d been roofied by a suspect. Her partner found her outside with Monses after a frantic search and beat him half to death.

“Hardy, he was as pissed as she was.”

Hardy stops rubbing his chest. “That’s not how consent works.”

Letchley sighs. “Look, if they’d had enough to charge him, he’d be in prison, not in Broadchurch trying to make nice with his wife.” He pauses. “Besides, doesn’t Miller think it was Joe?”

“Since when do you call her Miller?” Hardy asks, still irritated.

“Since when do you call her Ellie?” Letchley counters. When Hardy doesn’t say anything, he continues, “I told you last night, Hardy. You have to tell me if your relationship with Ellie is getting in the way. I get it. You want to nail this bastard, and I’m willing to cover for you to a point. But if it’s Clark asking why you turned up in a rumpled suit?” He raises his eyebrows.

Begrudgingly, Hardy agrees. “Fine,” he says.  _ “Fine.” _

“Dunno why she’s so smitten. Rest of us still call you shit-face.”

“She’s not smitten,” Hardy insists, though he’s still trying to work out what Ellie meant when she said this wasn’t how they were supposed to figure it out. “Is she?”

Letchley smirks as he rises. “C’mon, we ought to — ”

“Detective Letchley? Detective Hardy?”

It’s Carla Monses, wearing baby Olivia in one of those cloth slings. “Mrs. Monses,” Letchley says, guiding her to the chair he’d just vacated. “Everything all right?”

Carla bites her lip. “My husband doesn’t have much use for the police after — after what happened.”

“Why don’t you tell us the truth, then?” Letchley suggests, pulling out his notepad.

Carla nods. “I knew Devin was a drunk when I married him, but he wasn’t violent, and he didn’t cheat. Until last year.” She swaddles Olivia closer. “I’d just told him I was pregnant, and I needed him to sober up for me and the baby. Of course, he denied he had a problem and went out with his mates. Except he was an even sadder drunk than usual.” She sighs. “They left him at the bar while they went to a club. Well, he started chatting up the woman on the stool next to him.”

Letchley flips back several pages. “This was DS Colette Garnsey?”

“Yeah.” Carla sniffs. “Devin swears she came on to him. Next thing he knows, she’s dragging him out to the back alley, they’re making out ... and someone clubs him over the head.”

“DS Godric Chambers,” Letchley tells Hardy.

“How was Devin supposed to know she was an undercover cop?” Carla wants to know. “He didn’t roofie her. CCTV footage cleared him. The only thing he did wrong was cheat, and that’s between me and him. He even got his job back in the end.” She sniffs.

“Why Broadchurch?” Hardy asks.

Carla shrugs. “Used to come here as a kid. I didn’t care where we went, long as there wasn’t a chance of running into any of our old friends at the grocer’s. I wanted Olivia to grow up away from all that.” She drops a kiss on the baby’s head.

Letchley looks up from his notepad. “How did Devin react when he found out a police officer lived across the street?”

“Wasn’t happy.” Carla pauses. “Especially when he found out who her husband was. You see, Devin thinks he was set up. Garnsey and Chambers had been undercover for a while, only they hadn’t made any arrests. Devin’s convinced they were going to pin it on him.”

“Pin what?” Letchley asks.

Carla shakes her head. “Something to do with club drugs. We weren’t able to find out much.” She sneaks a glance at Hardy. “Devin thinks Joe Miller must’ve been innocent, too. He told me he didn’t want me socializing with Ellie or anyone who believes otherwise.”

“That’s most of Broadchurch,” Letchley points out.

“Believe me, I know.”

Hardy glances at Letchley. “Mrs. Monses, did you perhaps spend time with DS Miller anyway? Maybe a month or so ago, in this very garden?”

“She told you, then,” Carla says flatly.

“Aye,” Hardy confirms. “She says you stopped by for a chat. What did the two of you talk about?”

“Olivia, mostly. My Etsy shop, though it’s closed at the moment. I sell candles,” Carla explains. “Er, she was talking about her son, Tom. About his new girlfriend.”

Hardy thinks about the shy girl he’d met on the pier. “Was anyone else there?”

“The dead boy’s mum.” Carla bites her lip. “Beth Latimer.”

Hardy can tell Letchley is trying to catch his gaze, but he ignores the other detective. “What did you think of that?”

“That maybe — maybe Joe Miller was guilty.” She exhales. “That maybe they’re the only ones who understand what the other’s been through.”

“Did you tell Devin you’d been to see DS Miller, Carla?” Letchley asks.

“No.”

“Does he know you’re out here talking to us now?”

“No.” Carla pauses. “He saw something. Tuesday night. Well, Wednesday morning. I was waiting up. Saw a car pull up. When he didn’t come in right away, I went outside to have a go at him. Devin told me to shut up and listen, but I didn’t hear anything except Olivia on the baby monitor, so I went back inside.”

“What time was this?” Hardy asks.

“Half three?” Carla guesses.

“Did Devin come inside?”

“Not right away. I went up to Olivia’s room. Devin finally came thundering in around four. I thought he was going to wake the baby.”

Letchley catches Hardy’s eye finally. “What did he have to say for himself?”

“You know, that he was sorry. And that he’d seen someone leaving the Millers’ garden.” Carla swallows. “He said it was Joe Miller.”

*

“But it’s not like Devin Monses knows Joe Miller,” Letchley points out, lounging against the doorframe as Hardy freshens up. They’d gone back to his place so he could change. “He and Carla didn’t move to Broadchurch until after the trial.”

Hardy pauses, razor millimeters from his beard. “But he told her it was Joe Miller. Not a tall, bald guy. Joe Miller.”

Letchley sighs. “Yeah, at half three when he was off his tits. You heard Carla. When she asked him about it the next day, he said he didn’t remember.”

“Didn’t remember seeing it or didn’t remember saying it?” Hardy wants to know, setting down the razor. “And was this before or after SOCO tore Ellie’s house apart?” He splashes his face with water, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. He supposes it’ll do for today. “We need to bring Devin Monses in.”

“No.”

“What d’you mean, no?” Hardy asks irritably. “If I say we bring Monses in, we bring him in.”

Letchley steps aside so Hardy can leave the bathroom. “But he won’t cooperate. C’mon, Hardy. He doesn’t like cops, and he’s watched you come and go for the past year thinking you tried to pin Danny Latimer’s murder on Joe so you could screw his wife.”

Hardy, now in his bedroom, stops unbuttoning his shirt. “Then why incriminate Joe, huh? If Devin Monses thinks Joe Miller is so innocent, why place him at the scene of a crime?”

“You’re not going to like what I’m about to say,” Letchley warns. He inhales slowly, then blows out a sharp breath. “Monses wouldn’t have known it was a crime scene at half three. You said Ellie’s still married to Joe?” Hardy nods. “Then as far as Monses is concerned, it’s still Joe’s house. And something tells me Monses is of the opinion you can’t rape your spouse.”

“So it was what, rough sex? Ellie wanted him to punch her and hit her and bite her until she bled?  _ Rough sex — ” _ Hardy angrily peels off his undershirt  _ “ — is not a defense.” _

“Neither’s naggin’ and shaggin’, but how often do you hear that on a — sorry, you probably want me to step out. I know the lads don’t like it when I use the locker room.”

Hardy pokes his head out of a clean shirt. “Why would — oh. Because you’re gay?” Letchley nods, avoiding eye contact. “Letchley, you still call me shit-face. I doubt you’re checkin’ me out.” He pauses. “And I’m sorry. About the lads.”

“Sorry I called you shit-face last week.” Finally, Letchley looks up. “Wait to question Monses. See if the DNA matches Joe first.”

Both their cell phones buzz. Hardy fumbles his. He swears.

“SOCO want to know if Ellie can do a walk-through later today,” Letchley announces. “What do you think?”

Hardy considers it. She’d slept fitfully again, dozing in and out of night terrors. He’d had trouble rousing her from the last one, around five, and both of them had been awake after that. They’d watched the sun rise over Maggie and Jocelyn’s garden together, Ellie’s cheeks wet with tears. “I don’t know.” He pauses. “I can ask her.”

“We both know she’ll say yes.” Letchley’s hands are on his hips. “That’s why I’m asking you. Is she ready?”

“No.”

“Can it wait, though? If it turns out not to be Joe, would we be putting other women in danger?”

Hardy closes his eyes. He’d pushed Trish Winterman for that very reason, hadn’t he? “No,” he says, shaking his head. “It can’t wait.”

*

When Nita arrives with Ellie an hour later, Hardy isn’t expecting Tom to be with them. The lad clambers out of the car, opens the passenger door for his mum and helps her up from her seat.

“Really, Tom, I’m fine,” Ellie insists, though the grimace on her face suggests otherwise. Hardy frowns. Come to think of it, she’d needed his help to get out to the garden that morning, too.

Someone touches Hardy’s elbow, and he about jumps out of his skin. Once he’s composed himself, he glares at the ISVA.

Nita glances anxiously up the walk. “If she was prescribed anything for the pain, she isn’t taking it.”

Hardy racks his brain as Ellie greets Letchley at the front door. “Oxycodone,” he says after a moment. “I remember the doctor writing — ” he groans. She hadn’t given it to him to fill. “I’ll take care of it.” He motions  _ after you _ and follows Nita up the walk.

Ellie has a hand on Tom’s cheek.  _ “Mum,” _ he complains, but he allows himself to be dragged down so she can kiss his forehead.

“Now go wait in the garden until someone comes to get you,” she tells him.

Hardy shoves his hands into his pockets, waiting for the gate to close. “You brought Tom,” he says casually.

“Yes, I brought Tom,” Ellie says sharply. “He wants to be supportive, and what was I supposed to do? He’s a head taller than me.” She exhales. “Also I need him to tell SOCO if it’s the same mess he left in his room or not.”

Letchley passes out disposable shoe covers and gloves. “You know the drill, Ellie. Don’t touch anything, don’t move anything. We’ll give you and Tom a chance to pack some things after. It’ll probably be Monday before SOCO are ready to turn the house back over.”

Ellie sighs.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Nita reminds Ellie. “If you want to stop, or you just need a — ”

“Yes, thank you,” Ellie interrupts, grabbing Hardy by the arm. “Now make sure I don’t fall over while I put these on.”

Letchley smirks. Hardy glares at the other detective. “Get in there,” he says, and he gives Nita a nudge, too, so he can have a quick word with Ellie. “Hey, did anyone pick up your prescriptions?”

“Mmm, Maggie did. Don’t worry. I’ve been taking the antibiotics. An infection’s the last thing I need right now.” There’s an awkward moment where Hardy tries to support her while she tries to reach down to tug on the booties herself, but with her arm in the sling, it’s far easier for him to squat down and do it for her. “God, I feel so bloody helpless.”

Hardy straightens. He nods once, then asks, “And the pain meds? What about them?”

“Don’t need them,” Ellie says briskly, reaching for the door handle. “Shall we?”

“Ellie,” Hardy says in a low tone.

She throws up her left hand in exasperation. “Well, what do you want me to say, Alec? The last time I took pills that knocked me out, my husband murdered a child. I’ll stick with paracetamol, thanks.”

And she pushes past him.

Inside, far too many people are trying to stand in the Millers’ cramped foyer: Letchley, Nita, Dirty Brian and another SOCO whose name is either Marion or Maureen. Or is it Nadine? Hardy can never remember. Usually Ellie would whisper it in his ear — tease him mercilessly about it later — but somehow, they’ve ended up on opposite ends of the hallway. He’s at the foot of the stairs, and she’s practically in the kitchen with Nita.

“All right if we get started?” Brian asks. Hearing no objections, he says, “OK, Ellie. We need to know if we’ve missed anything. We’ll have you walk us through what happened, room by room. Nadia will tag anything you mention that we’ve missed, and if you notice anything’s missing, we’ll make a note of it.” He gives her an encouraging smile. “Lead the way.”

Ellie bites her lip. She points at Letchley, who’s standing in the doorway of the dining room. “We should start in there. Hardy and I had the files from the Simpson case spread out on the table.”

Brian and Letchley both have to press themselves against the wall so she can pass. Again, Hardy ends up on the opposite side of the room from Ellie. It bothers him more than it should.

“And if you could just remind us why you were looking over the Simpson case files,” Letchley prompts.

“For the last several weeks, DI Hardy and I have been investigating a series of burglaries. Mostly vacation rentals, but our burglar’s broken into a few residence as well, including one early Monday morning near a car park with CCTV. On Tuesday, I ran down the registrations of every car that entered and exited around the time of the robbery. I gave that list to DI Hardy before I left for the evening.” She looks expectantly at him.

“Er, I recognized one of the names. Maxwell Silva. He was a suspect in an unsolved case from a few months back. Another robbery. I ... decided to take the case files to Miller.”

“It was a case from when I was on loan to Exeter, so I hadn’t seen them before. We spent — three hours? Or was it four?” Hardy nods “ — going over them. When Hardy left, I meant to go to bed, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Alannah Simpson, so I went back over the transcripts for a third time. Decided I’d have just one more cup of tea.”

They file into the narrow kitchen after her, treading carefully around loose papers. It’s not until he sees the shopping list with  _ PG Tips  _ written in his own messy scrawl that Hardy realizes they all must’ve come from the fridge. He makes the mistake of looking right at Ellie, who’s standing in front of the cabinet her rapist had bashed her head into.

“Except Hardy had drank all my tea. I started digging through the cupboard. That’s when I heard a floorboard creak. Next thing I know, someone has his hand around my neck. Rammed me right into this here cabinet. Gashed my head open, see the stitches? I had blood dripping into my eyes. Made it hard to see anything.”

She says this all matter-of-factly, like she’s recounting an attack on a total stranger. Only Ellie isn’t a stranger. She’s their colleague. Their friend. Even Nita looks upset.

Hardy wants to kick them all out. He wants to hold Ellie and make promises like  _ I’ll kill him myself. _

The grim processional follows Ellie into the living room. “Where’s my purse?” she demands. Even Hardy knows it ought to be in the chair. 

Brian steps forward. “We found it in the garden, along with some of the contents.”

“My wallet?”

“Sorry, no.”

“My badge?”

“Mostly half-eaten goodie bars,” Brian says with a wry smile.

Ellie sighs. “Right then,” she says, and she explains how the intruder grabbed her handcuffs before forcing her up the stairs in front of him. Hardy grips the bookcase behind him.

This time, he doesn’t let anyone get between them. “You first,” he tells Brian, motioning the SOCO up the stairs. “You too,” he tells Nadia. “Go on in. We’ll follow you.” Brian arches an eyebrow, but he does as he’s told.

“What are you doing?” Ellie hisses as the scenes of crime officers disappear into her bedroom.

“Helpin’ you up the stairs, if you’ll let me,” he whispers back.

“I can handle the bloody —  _ oh,” _ Ellie says as she steps up. She squeezes her eyes shut, hand pressed to her pelvis. Finally, she nods. “If you don’t mind.”

“’Course not,” Hardy replies, taking her left hand in his and resting his right hand on her hip to steady her. “One step at a time. There you go.”

Halfway up, she grits, “Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is?”

“Just a few more. You’re doin’ great.”

She glares at him over her shoulder. “Don’t patronize me.”

But if the stairs are bad, her bedroom is far worse. Ellie takes one look at her stripped, soiled mattress and reverses, running smack into Hardy’s chest. He wraps his arms around her instinctively. “Shh,” he mutters, unable to look away himself. “I’ve got you. It’s OK, Ellie. I’ve got you.”

Jesus, how much had she bled for it to soak through the sheets and stain her mattress? There’d been blood on the floor, too. Hardy’s eyes flicker to where he found her. 

There’s still blood on the floor. 

Ellie is shaking her head. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry, I can’t, I — ” she breaks off with a sharp, wet sniff.

Hardy motions for Nadia to hand him a tissue from the box on Ellie’s dresser, but instead of grabbing one, she looks at Brian.

Brian shakes his head.

_ Sorry, _ Nadia mouths apologetically. She’s just doing her job, but that doesn’t make Hardy less furious. With her, with Brian, with Letchley, with Nita, with Joe or whoever fucking did this to Ellie.

But mostly with himself. He  _ never _ should have pushed her to come up here. He should’ve stopped the walk-through the second he realized how much pain she was in.

“Go back downstairs,” he tells Brian and Nadia, gesturing behind him with one hand, the other arm around Ellie still. “I’m endin’ this right now.”

“DI Hardy, she’s done great so far,” Brian says uncomfortably. “If she could just — ”

“I’m right here, you know,” Ellie interrupts, voice muffled by Hardy’s shirt. She peeks up at him. “I think — maybe if there were fewer people?”

Hardy swallows. “Are you sure?” Ellie nods. “OK. Er, Letchley, downstairs.” Much to Hardy’s surprise, Letchley doesn’t protest.

“Ellie, would you prefer me or Nadia?” Brian asks. “And believe me, I’ll understand if you’d prefer Nadia.”

Ellie considers it. “Nadia,” she says finally. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Brian says, and he leaves, too.

“Do you want me to stay, Ellie?” Nita asks. “I don’t have to,” she adds quickly.

Ellie sniffs, letting go of Hardy, though he keeps his grasp on her. “No, you can stay, Nita.” Then she takes a deep, shuddering breath and says, “I need you to go downstairs, too, Alec.”

*

They can’t interview Tom without an appropriate adult present, so Hardy and Letchley are stuck making awkward small talk with Brian in the kitchen. Hardy couldn’t care less about either of their weekend plans — he’ll be working, of course — so he’s squinting at Ellie’s fridge, trying to remember what all had been stuck to it when he’d added tea to her shopping list. A utility bill. A summons to appear in court for a case they’d worked together that Letchley is dangerously close to stepping on. Tom’s football schedule. Fred’s artwork.

Hardy frowns. He sees the shopping list, the summons and the football schedule, but where’s the messy drawing of a dinosaur?

_ “Where’s Mum?” _

_ Hardy, who’s sitting at the opposite end of the Millers’ dining room table, looks up from his laptop. He’d been so busy composing an email to Clark he’d forgotten all about Fred. “She had to go to a meeting at your brother’s school. I didn’t tell you that when I picked you up?” _

_ Fred shakes his head. “Is Tom in trouble again?” _

_ “I hope not,” Hardy says because that’s the last thing Miller needs right now. She feels guilty enough about the long hours she’s been putting in, all the times she’s had to foist the boys off on her dad or Lucy. He nods at Fred’s drawing. “Nice dinosaur. Have you named him?” _

_ Fred shrugs. “Not yet.” There’s a pause. “He’s an apatosaurus, though.” _

_ Hardy closes his computer. “Apatosaurus?” he repeats. “Where’d a wee lad like you learn a big word like that?” _

_ “YouTube.” Then Fred sings, “I’m one of the biggest animals that ever existed!” _

_ Hardy gets up from his usual seat at the end of the table and pulls up a chair next to Fred. “Yeah? What else do you know about apatosaurus...es?” _

_ Fred tilts his face up, nostrils flared and full of boogers. “They have nostrils on top of their heads and eat rocks sometimes. You wanna color with me?” _

_ “Let’s grab you a tissue first, lad,” Hardy says, scanning the room for a box. He spots one on the bookcase. He stands, grabs one and hands it to Fred. “Blow.” _

_ Fred does as he’s told, then hands the wet, snotty tissue back. Hardy, who hasn’t forgotten this part from when Daisy was little, just ruffles Fred’s hair as he gets up to dispose of it. He starts to head back to his computer, only the lad’s looking at him expectantly. _

_ “OK, what do you need help with?” Hardy asks. _

_ Fred thinks about it. “You can do the pterodactyls,” he says finally. Hardy picks up a purple crayon. Fred shakes his head. “No,” he tells Hardy. “Red.” _

It’s only when Letchley and Brian go quiet that Hardy realizes he’s been thinking out loud. “Did you — did you just hum a bar of the StoryBots apatosaurus song?” Letchley wants to know.

“No,” Hardy says defensively.

“Yes, you did. ‘I got nostrils on my head, big heart inside my chest,’” Letchley recites. “Cait sings it in the bath all the bloody time, that’s how I know it. What’s your excuse?”

Hardy ignores him. He steps forward, pointing to where Ellie’d hung Fred’s apatosaurus art when she’d gotten home. “There was a drawing of a dinosaur right here. Fred wouldn’t let his mum take it down. Did you find anything like that?”

Brian shakes his head. “No, and I inventoried this room myself.” After a moment’s silence, he says, “He might’ve taken it.”

“Who takes a 6-year-old’s art?” Letchley asks uncomfortably, though they all know the answer: the 6-year-old’s father, that’s who.

There’s a creak that turns all three men’s heads, but it’s only Tom at the back door. Hardy intercepts the lad with a glance back at Letchley, who steps in front of the cabinet smeared with Ellie’s blood. “What is it, Tom?”

“Mrs. Latimer’s here,” he says with a jerk of his head over his shoulder. Beth is standing behind him with her arms crossed and head bent. “Says she isn’t leaving until she talks to Hardy.”

Hardy puts his hands on his hips as he weighs his options. Finally, he asks, “Can Tom wait in here for a few minutes?” 

“Of course,” Brian says warmly. “How’ve you been, lad?” He steers him through the kitchen and into the living room, which isn’t as torn up. Letchley follows them.

Hardy closes the back door behind him. “What do you want, Beth?” he asks, matching her stance.

“What do I want? I want to know how Ellie is! First we see an ambulance over here, then SOCO swarms her house, and the next thing I know is a referral’s come through for a 44-year-old detective sergeant who was sexually assaulted during a home invasion. Not to mention that disastrous news conference yesterday.” Beth glares at Hardy like that was his fault. “I’ve been calling nonstop for two days. Her, you. You couldn’t have let me know if she was all right?”

It’s Hardy’s turn to glare. “All right? You said it yourself, she was sexually assaulted in her own home. You think she’s all right?”

Beth unfurls, covering her mouth. “Oh God,” she says. “It’s true, then.” She steps back until her legs hit the garden bench, and she sinks down slowly. “I don’t know why I thought it wouldn’t be.”

Hardy keeps his arms crossed. “You know I can’t talk to you about an ongoing investigation.” He pauses. “Stop calling her. She doesn’t have her phone.” Joe does, but he can’t tell Beth that. 

_ You don’t know that it was Joe,  _ he reminds himself.

“She’s not still in hospital, is she?” 

“No,” Hardy says quickly. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he says, “After she had the forensic exam, they treated her injuries and released her.”

“She’s somewhere safe?” Beth asks anxiously.

Hardy bristles. “You think I’d have her somewhere unsafe? ’Course she’s somewhere safe.”

“She’s staying with you,” Beth surmises.

Finally, Hardy uncrosses his arms. “No,” he says, taking a seat next to Beth and clasping his hands in front of him, elbows on his knees. “She and the boys are staying with Maggie and Jocelyn.” 

“What if — ” there’s a hitch in Beth’s voice that tells Hardy she thinks it’s Joe, too “ —  _ he  _ comes back?” 

Hardy stares at his clasped hands. “I’m stayin’ with them for now.” He clears his throat. “Listen, it’s — ”

The back door opens, and Letchley pokes his head out. “Ladies are done upstairs. Nadia needs a word with us.” His eyes land on Beth. “I was going to send Ellie out with Tom, give her a few minutes before we go through the boys’ rooms.”

Beth rises with Hardy. “Please? She’s my best friend. Only person in the world who knows what I went through with Danny. I need to see her with my own eyes.”

Hardy exhales. “If she tells you she’s not ready to see you yet, you go. Am I making myself understood?”

“Of course,” Beth says quickly.

Hardy isn’t sure what he’s expecting when he goes back inside, but it isn’t for Ellie to brush past him without a word. She’s obviously been crying. The only thing that stops him from going after her is that the others are waiting in the living room.

Nadia bites her lip. “Ellie confirmed that several things were taken from her room — jewelry, a framed photo, some documents she was gathering for school. Fred’s jab card, a copy of Tom’s transcript. That sort of thing.”

“Birth certificates? Passports?” Hardy wants to know. The last thing they need is for Joe to get his hands on any of the boys’ legal documents. 

“Fortunately, no. Ellie keeps those in a safe, key’s in the icebox. Birth certificates, passports all accounted for.” Nadia hesitates. “There’s something else. We went through Ellie’s dresser drawer-by-drawer. Her — vibrator was missing. That’s why she asked you all to leave. She remembered him using it during the attack.”

Hardy can’t punch a wall. He’s helped Ellie hang enough pictures to know the plaster will crumble.

It’s Letchley who clears his throat and asks, “The photo that was taken, what was it?”

“Ellie says it was from her birthday do.” Nadia casts a sideways glance at Hardy. “Says DI Hardy was in it, too.”

Hardy remembers Beth taking the photo and showing it to them after. Ellie’d looked lovely. He’d looked like a deer in headlights. Why had she wanted to look at it every day?

There’s a shout from outside. Hardy’s never moved so fast in his life. He steps into a row, hurt, angry tears streaming down Ellie’s cheeks.

“Yeah? Well, it doesn’t work like that for everyone else,” she says. “When our lives fall apart, we only have ourselves to blame.”

“Ellie,” Hardy says uncomfortably. “No one’s blaming you.” He looks at Nita, hoping she’ll chime in, but the ISVA looks petrified.

Not Beth, though. She steps forward, a look of steely resolve on her face. “It’s out now, Ellie. It happened. It can’t be changed. You need support. You need your friends. Pushing everyone away won’t help.”

Then everything goes from bad to worse. A shutter clicks. Hardy spots the photographer over the fence and starts shouting. He looks away from Ellie for a second. For a  _ second. _

And her wobbly legs go out from under her before anyone can get to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, wow, _wow._ Your comments on the last chapter were SO AMAZING. Thank you for being so kind and supportive, and for welcoming this fic (and its difficult topic) to the fandom with open arms.
> 
> Also I blew *right past* my 5,500 per chapter word limit, so I'll try not to do that again!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CONTENT WARNING:** This chapter depicts two male detective discussing how the system minimizes the experiences of survivors of rape and domestic abuse.

“What? No! This house is a crime — DI Hardy!”

Hardy ignores SOCO Young, steering Ellie straight towards her box room, where they hadn’t found any evidence anyway. He sits her on the bed, tells her he’ll be right back, then steps out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him.

“She isn’t going anywhere until we’ve taken care of the press. She needs to lie down. She’s in pain. She’s not contaminating anything in there. OK?”

Dirty Brian glares at Hardy. “Fine,” he says. “C’mon, Nadia. We’re going back upstairs.”

Letchley is next in line. “Sir, you — ”

“Save it, Letchley. I need you to get Tom and Nita outta — ”

“No!” Tom bursts. “Like hell I’m leaving her with — ”

The door behind Hardy opens. “Tom Miller, you watch your mouth!” Ellie chastises, her face bloodless.

“You shouldn’t be on your feet,” Hardy mutters so only she’ll hear.

“Oh, sod off, will you?”

“I really think we ought to — ”

“Maybe if we — ”

They’re all talking over each other again. Before Hardy has a chance to raise his voice, Beth sticks two fingers in her mouth and blows an ear-piercing whistle that shuts everyone up.

“Ellie, they’re going to keep hounding you,” Beth says matter-of-factly. “No. It’s not fair. DS Letchley, you should consider giving them a stern talking-to. Let slip something inconsequential. They’ll dash off to write their stories and leave Ellie alone. Tom, you’ll do as your mother and DI Hardy say. If they decide — ”

“No one put you in charge, Beth,” Ellie interjects coolly. 

“ — you need to go, then you go. Nita, go wait in the living room in case Ellie needs you. DI Hardy, a word?”

He’s the one in charge, and yet he feels strangely compelled to follow Beth into the kitchen. “I thought I told you to leave if she didn’t want to see you.”

“She doesn’t seem all that keen on you at the moment. Will you be following your own advice?” Beth arches her eyebrows. Hardy sighs. “Didn’t think so.” She glances over her shoulder, pulling her cardigan tighter. “Why’s she in so much pain?”

Hardy shakes his head slightly. “Tears? Damage to her coccyx?” Beth winces. “FME thought he was trying to inflict maximum damage.” He cringes, remembering what Nadia told them about the vibrator. “She won’t take anything but paracetamol.”

“Surely the doctor prescribed something — oh. Because she took those sleeping pills the night Danny died,” Beth says flatly. “She wouldn’t take anything when she had that infected tooth, either. Do you remember that?”

“Must’ve been before I came back to Broadchurch,” Hardy mutters.

Letchley sticks his head in the kitchen. “Er, Tom says there’s a way to sneak out through Gerald Peakes’ garden without anyone seeing.”

“Oh, yeah, he and Danny used to tear through there all the time,” Beth says. “Go on, it’s been years since Nell had anything to complain about. Only Ellie won’t be able to, damn. There’s a low wall you have to climb over.”

Hardy nods, weighing the options. “OK, have Tom lead SOCO out, then. Meanwhile, you go out the front and tell the press — tell them we believe a Wessex Police badge has been stolen.” Desai is going to  _ kill _ him. “Then remind them that impersonating an officer is a serious crime.”

“And Nita?” Letchley wants to know.

“What’s Ellie want?”

Letchley rubs the back of his neck. “Ellie seems quite exasperated with her, to be honest.”

“Then send her out with Tom and the others.” Hardy glances at Beth. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“See if she can drop Tom off at Maggie and Jocelyn’s,” Hardy says. “And Letchley? Come back in when you’ve told the reporters off.”

Letchley looks as surprised as Hardy feels. “Will do.”

“What about me?” Beth asks once everyone’s paraded out through the garden. “She doesn’t want to talk to me, fine. But I need to feel like I’m doin’ something.”

Hardy squeezes his eyes closed with a grimace. “Call Maggie,” he says. “Tell her to snoop through Ellie’s things, see if she can’t find the prescription the doctor wrote. If not, do you know Agnes ... Agnes ... ”

“Agnes Hovey, the FME?” Hardy nods. “Sure, Chlo used to babysit for her twins.”

Hardy opens his eyes. “See if she’ll write Ellie a new prescription. Then get it filled.”

“Sure, but what if Ellie still refuses to take anything?”

“I’ll see if I can’t wear her down this weekend.”

“So you’re going to keep staying with her.”

“I already said I was,” Hardy says irritably. “I’ll take care of her, Beth. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Beth purses her lips. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Hardy frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But Beth is already out the door. “Stop stringin’ her along, Alec,” she calls over her shoulder, and she’s gone.

Hardy takes a second to collect himself, then walks back to the box room and knocks. “Ellie.”

“Go away,” she sniffs.

Hardy reaches for the doorknob, but it’s locked. “Ellie,” he says again, this time incredulously.

“I told you to sod off,” comes the muffled reply.

Hardy sighs, crossing his arms. He leans his shoulder against the door. “Can I ask you something?”

“You’re going to anyway.”

“Do you feel like I’ve strung you along?” No answer. “Because Beth just told me to stop stringin’ you along.”

He isn’t expecting her to haul open the door. “Did she say that?” Ellie demands. “Twit.”

Hardy steadies himself. “She also says you’re her best friend and the only person who knows what she went through with Danny.”

“That’s not fair,” Ellie complains, grimacing all the way back to the day bed. Hardy isn’t sure if she wants him to sit next to her, so he perches on the small desk that doubles as a nightstand. “No, I don’t think you’ve strung me along. I don’t suppose you’ll leave me alone now.”

“Last night, you — you said this wasn’t how we were supposed to figure this out.” He’s gripping the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles are turning white. “Figure what out?”

Ellie finishes piling all the pillows on one end of the bed. “Is now really the time for this conversation, Alec?” She sinks back into the mound of the pillows. She sighs contentedly. “Oh, I needed this.”

Hardy swallows the lump in his throat. “I think you ought to know how I feel, especially now.” He takes a deep breath. “Because I’m in love with you, Ellie. I moved back to Broadchurch because — because I didn’t like my life without you in it.” He braves a glance at her. She’s lying in her pillow nest with a stunned look on her face.

“Oh, bloody hell,” she says, trying to get up and failing miserably. “Well, what are you waiting for? If you love me, help me sit up, will you? Wanker.”

They end up sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the mattress, fingers interlaced. “I’m sorry,” Hardy tells her, staring at their clasped hands. “I should’ve told you.”

“When?” Ellie asks.

“When’d I fall in love with you?” She nods. That’s easy. “When you solved Sandbrook.”

“But I didn’t solve Sandbrook. You did.” There’s a pause. “Well, I suppose  _ we _ solved Sandbrook.” Ellie frowns. “Then why’d you go back to Tess?”

“No,” Hardy says, shaking his head. “No, no. It was never about Tess. I went back for Daisy.”

“You told me you felt like you had to try to make your marriage work,” Ellie reminds him.

Hardy cringes. “Believe me, Ellie. It was about Daisy. Six months in and Tess and I were sleeping in separate bedrooms.”

“You could have called, you could have texted, you could have — ”

“I thought I wasn’t welcome in Broadchurch,” he interrupts. He takes a deep breath. “Ellie, I arrested your husband. I didn’t think  _ you  _ wanted me in Broadchurch.”

“My husband the paedophile,” Ellie sniffs, letting go of his hand so she can wipe her eyes. She doesn’t reach for it again. She tilts her face up. “Alec, it was him. If SOCO need to tear this house up to be convinced, that’s fine. But I already know who raped me. It smelled like him. It  _ felt _ like him. He knew my body — ” she shudders “ — and he knew just what to do to make it react. That’s the worst part. When I stopped fighting him, he tried to make it pleasurable.”

Hardy closes his eyes. “You did what you had to, to survive,” he says, and very carefully, he wraps his arm around her. He expects her to tense, and she does, but she relaxes almost immediately, dropping her cheek to his chest. He kisses the top of her head. “This OK?”

“What, you finally confessing your feelings while we hide from the press in my box room?” There’s a knock on the door. Ellie sighs. “And that’d be Ewan.” But Hardy’s arm stays curled protectively around her. “DS Letchley, Alec.”

“Come in,” he calls, his hand still on her hip, her head still on his chest.

Letchley takes one look at them and says, “I see you two’ve gotten yourselves sorted.” Then he clears his throat, crossing his arms. “You know I have to tell Clark, right? You’re off the case, Hardy.”

He nods. “I understand,” he says solemnly. “I’ll tell Clark — ”

“What? No!” Ellie interjects, cracking him in the chin with her very hard skull. “You can’t tell Clark! She won’t just take you off the case, she’ll reassign us. Alec, you’re the only one I can trust to bring Joe — no, no, no, I don’t like the look the two of you just exchanged.”

Hardy lets go of her and slides a few inches over on the mattress so they aren’t touching, massaging his jaw. “Ellie, I should have recused myself as soon as you told me it was Joe. If this case goes to trial — ”

“If?  _ If? _ When!  _ When _ this case goes to trial!”

It’s Letchley’s turn. “Ellie, I’ve seen enough. I believe Joe raped you. I believe it was a brutal, violent attack that lasted for hours that you  _ did not want. _ But Joe is your husband. And a jury isn’t going to see the evidence the same way.”

“I fought him,” Ellie says desperately. “I dislocated my shoulder trying to get myself out of my handcuffs. I — ” she breaks off with a sob. Hardy tries to put his hand on the small of her back, but she recoils. “Why put me through all of this if you don’t expect this case to go to trial?”

Letchley nods. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I don’t like it, either. But with your injuries, we should have enough to get you a restraining order. With a restraining order, you can get divorced without having to worry about losing custody of the boys. You’ll be able to sell the house if you want, move somewhere you feel safer. I’m not telling you to give up hope, Ellie — ”

_ “Yes, you are.”  _

“ — but you might want to temper your expectations. As soon as we have the DNA results, we’ll be able to get an arrest warrant. And if we manage to track him down and he confesses, then yeah, CPS might be willing to prosecute. But you know what happened last time, Ellie. Do you want to put yourself through that again, huh? Do you?”

“Get out.”

“Ellie — ”

“Get out, Ewan. It’s still my house, even if being in it makes my skin crawl, and I’m telling you to  _ get out.” _

“I’ll lock up after you,” Hardy says, rising to his feet. “Ellie, I’ll be right back.” He follows Letchley to the front door. “Give me until the end of the day to work out what to tell Clark,” he mutters.

“She needed to hear it, Hardy,” Letchley says stubbornly. 

Hardy opens the door. “Why do you think I let you upset her?” And he pushes Letchley out with a little shove so that he can go hold Ellie while she cries.

*

Hardy goes into Clark’s office expecting a lecture and is surprised when he doesn’t get one. The chief super just steeples her fingers and nods. 

“Thank you for letting me know, DI Hardy,” she says, reaching for a pen. “I’ll tell HR to draw up the paperwork. My understanding is it’s quite standard, though you probably already know that.” Hardy nods. He’d had to do the same thing with Tess in South Mercia. “Obviously, you’re off Ellie’s case. I’ll assign it to the float. He’ll be here on Monday. Had to remind Exeter I lent them DS Miller for four months.” Clark shakes her head. “Ellie’ll be back sooner than that, though.” She looks up for confirmation.

“Er,” Hardy says, certain Ellie wouldn’t want him disclosing her medical information to Clark. “Maybe not by the end of the month, but Ellie’s tough.” 

Clark smiles. “So it’s Ellie now?”

“She’ll be using her maiden name when she returns. DS Barrett.”

“I see,” Clark says, and Hardy wonders if it’s gotten back to her yet that Joe did this. “Well, Alec, unless there’s something else you’d like to discuss with me, I’m going to tell you to cut out early and spend the weekend with Ellie. Your and Ellie’s caseload can wait until Monday. DS Connell seems to be on top of it. You’ll be working with him as long as Letchley’s on Ellie’s case, but I really want the two of you to give it some thought.”

Hardy blinks. “Give what some thought?”

“Who each of you will partner moving forward. I fear Ellie will think we’ve demoted her if she’s reassigned to DS Connell.”

“Why would she be reassigned to DS Connell?” Hardy asks, frowning. “Once the investigation is closed — ”

“One of you will partner DS Letchley, and one of you will partner DS Connell. I don’t think they’ll mind being split up.”

“Why can’t we keep partnerin’ each other?” Hardy wants to know. “Tess and I — ”

“Yes, Alec, I’m aware you were at one time married to your DS. I’m also aware you covered for her when she lost crucial evidence in the Sandbrook case. So while that might be how it’s done in South Mercia, it’s not what we do here in Broadchurch. As of today, you are no longer DS Mil— _ Barrett’s _ partner.”

*

Hardy’s plan is to sneak his duffle into Maggie and Jocelyn’s guest room without anyone noticing, but of course Tom’s loitering in the kitchen snacking on crisps. His gaze drifts from Hardy to the bag, then back up, an inquisitive look on his face.

“Er,” Hardy says. He clears his throat. “Where’s your mum?”

“Her room,” Tom replies. “Resting.” His eyes flicker to the bag again. “You plannin’ to stay?”

Hardy can feel his palms sweating. “Aye,” he confirms. He doesn’t trust himself to say more until he’s had a chance to talk to Ellie.

Tom inhales, then nods. “That’s — I’m glad she has someone takin’ care of her.” He bites his lip. “I was scared when she collapsed in the garden.”

“I was scared, too,” Hardy admits. And, after a moment’s hesitation, “Your mum means a lot to me.”

They stare at each other. It’s Tom’s turn to clear his throat. “I’m going to take these upstairs then. Fred’s at the park with Maggie. I can watch him tonight if Mum needs me to.”

“Thanks, lad,” Hardy replies, watching Tom wander off with the crisps. That wasn’t so bad, was it? He walks down the hall and knocks on Ellie’s door. No answer. “Ellie?” He turns the doorknob apprehensively.

But nothing bad’s happening. The curtains are drawn, the room is dark and Ellie’s fast asleep. Hardy sets his bag down and walks around the bed. He smooths her hair and decides he’ll take a shower. The water he’d splashed on his face while talking to Letchley that morning isn’t quite cutting it.

Like everything else in Jocelyn’s house, the guest room en suite is a bit dated. Once the old pipes creak to life, though, the water is hot, and that’s all Hardy cares about. He stands under the stream and lets the day wash off him. He’s not sure how to tell Ellie they’re being reassigned, and not just because she’ll say  _ I told you so. _ He’d come back to Broadchurch to work with her, and he’s just traded the most fulfilling professional relationship he’s ever had for something completely unknown.

He hadn’t lied to Ellie. He  _ is _ in love with her. But he hadn’t really let himself picture life as  _ Alec and Ellie  _ when they were still  _ Hardy and Miller  _ or he would never have been content. 

“You’re thinking awfully hard in there,” comes Ellie’s voice. “You know you could have woken me, right?”

Hardy is relieved to see the glass is frosted. “Aye,” he says, quickly rinsing the soap from his hair. “You looked so peaceful, though.” He turns off the water. “Er, didn’t think to grab a towel.”

One appears over the shower door. He begins toweling himself off, waiting to step out until she’s gone back into the bedroom. Except then she says, “Well, tell me what Clark had to say,” and he realizes she isn’t going anywhere.

“Er,” Hardy says, and that’s when he hears his phone ringing.

“And that’d be Daisy,” Ellie says matter-of-factly. “That’s actually what woke me up. She’s called a few — ”

But Hardy’s already stepping out of the shower with the towel tied around his waist. He motions for Ellie to hand him his phone, which she does. “Daiz,” he says. “Everything all right?”

_ “Daaaad, when were you goin’ to tell me about Ellie?” _

“Er,” Hardy says, face flushed. “What d’you mean, sweetheart?” He rests his phone on his shoulder so he can adjust the towel.

“It’s all over the news what happened,” Daisy tells him. “That someone broke into her house and tied her up and — ” her voice hitches  _ “ — raped her. _ Please tell me she’s OK,” she begs.

Hardy transfers the phone back to his hand. “She’s gettin’ through it, Daiz.” He reaches out with his other hand to squeeze Ellie’s arm. 

“You’ll catch him, right?” Daisy asks anxiously. “Whoever did it?”

“’Course I will,” Hardy assures his daughter, even though it’s no longer up to him. “Actually, Daiz, I’m with Ellie right now. Can I call you back?”

“Since when is she Ellie?” Daisy asks suspiciously. 

“I love you, sweetheart,” Hardy tells her. “I’ll call you this weekend.” He hangs up before she can answer. “Daiz is worried about you,” he says to Ellie, his hand still on her arm. 

“I heard. She’s a sweet girl, your Daiz.” She’s looking at his bare chest. “That’s it, then.”

“What — oh,” Hardy says when he realizes she means the scar from his pacemaker surgery. He stares straight ahead as her fingers brush over it, keenly aware he’s only wearing a towel.

“Smaller’n I thought,” Ellie says finally. She glances up at him. “Glad it’s keeping you alive.” Then she swats at him. “Go on, get dressed. I can tell I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

Hardy exhales. “OK,” he agrees, and he swears she checks his butt out as he leaves the bathroom. He blushes. Not sure how long he has, he quickly pulls on pants, trousers and an old jumper.

The toilet flushes, and Ellie emerges from the bathroom a minute later. “A funny thing happened after you left this afternoon,” she says, hand on her hip. “Beth dropped by with some pain pills from the prescription I’d thrown out. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“N-no,” Hardy coughs.

“Liar,” Ellie says, lowering herself gingerly onto the bed. “I told you, I’m not comfortable taking anything that’ll knock me out.”

Hardy sits, too, but on the edge of the mattress. “Ellie, it’s an opioid, not a sleeping pill. It might make you sleepy, but it won’t knock you out. You know how strict the NHS has gotten when it comes to opioids. The doctor wouldn’t have prescribed it if you didn’t need it.”

“Nonsense. I’ll be fine. I just need to rest.” She’s propped herself up on pillows again. “Now stop stalling and tell me what Clark said.”

Hardy grimaces. 

“Told you so,” Ellie says when he’s finished. She purses her mouth. “Damn. Jenkinson would have let us keep working together, I’m sure of it.” She sighs. “Well, I guess that’s that. I’d flip you for Ewan if I didn’t think you’d eat poor Martin alive.”

And she raises her eyebrows, daring Hardy to challenge her.

“Oh, c’mon, I’m not a bloody cannibal,” he grumbles, leaning back on his elbow. “And I don’t have to like him. I just have to work with him. I work with people I don’t like all the time.”

Ellie snorts. “Of course you do. You have to, you don’t like anyone.” She pauses. “Though I did throw Ewan out of my house today.”

Hardy tilts his face up. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Come up here, will you?”

He does as he’s told, scooting up the mattress until he’s sitting next to her, his back against the headboard because she has all the pillows. Within seconds, she’s using him as a pillow instead.

“I should’ve told you,” Hardy says finally. “You were try’n to tell me it was Joe, and I wasn’t listening, was I?”

“I didn’t want it to be him, either,” Ellie reminds him. “And you shouldn’t have had to tell me. It’s not like I don’t know what happens after we get a shout on the estate. Domestic violence cases are rarely prosecuted.” She laces her fingers with his.

Hardy drops a kiss on her head, trying not to think about how he’d found her. What Joe had done might’ve been on the extreme end, but it was still domestic violence. “I told Clark you wouldn’t be Miller when you come back. Did you get a chance to talk to Jocelyn?”

“Mmm,” Ellie murmurs. “She says it’ll be a bit tricky not knowing where Joe is, but she thinks she can do it. Probably will have to sell the house, though. Maggie’s already said we can stay as long as we need to. Doubt she talked to Jocelyn before she offered. Might be able to stay with Luce for a while. She bloody owes me for putting up with Dad as long as I did.”

“Could stay with me,” Hardy suggests, and immediately he wishes he hadn’t. Not because he wouldn’t want Ellie and the boys in his house but because she twists away from him.

“Alec, you know I can’t. I’ve got to think of the boys.”

Hardy bristles. “Do you really think I didn’t mean the boys, too?”

“I mean the 16-year-old in therapy for oppositional defiant disorder and the 6-year-old who wets the bed every night.” Ellie pauses, biting her lip. “Please don’t tell Tom I told you.”

Hardy nods mechanically. He’d known about the bed-wetting, has helped Ellie strip the sheets before, but not about Tom’s diagnosis. He rubs his mouth. “It’s good he’s getting some help.”

“You don’t want us living with you,” she says flatly.

“Ellie, they’re good lads. D’you really think I don’t know bein’ with you means your boys, too? It’s no different than me comin’ with Daiz.”

“Daisy’s in Swansea, a train ride away.”

“So? She may be out of the house, but she’s still my daughter. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. If she calls at midnight because bloody Paul from Exeter’s broken her heart, I’m driving all night to go beat him up.”

The corners of Ellie’s mouth twitch. “Calm down, it’s only Swansea. You could drive there, beat him up and be back in time to watch the sunrise. Oh! Maybe grab a bacon sarnie?”

“You sure you don’t want Letchley? He showed up with two bacon sarnies this morning, said one of them was for me.”

“No, don’t tell me, he ended up eating both of them,” Ellie deadpans. “Today I could tell you’d come around on Ewan. Admit it. The only thing that was ever wrong with him was he wasn’t me.”

_ “No,” _ Hardy insists, his thumb skimming her bruised cheek. “Well, yes.” Finally, he says, “I’d like to kiss you, if that’s OK.”

Ellie responds with the barest of nods.

So he kisses her. Softly, so she can change her mind. When she doesn’t — when she grabs a fistful of his jumper, when she tugs him towards her, when she sweeps her tongue into his mouth — he thinks he can see the other side of this. Weeks or months from now, when her injuries have healed and they’ve arrested Joe. A new beginning.  _ Alec and Ellie. _

Until she flinches.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he tells her. “It’s too soon, I crossed a — ”

“You knob, it’s taken you three years to kiss me, it’s not too soon.” Ellie draws back with a pinched, pained expression. “No, it’s my shoulder.”

“Oh,” Alec says. After a moment’s consideration, he leans forward and kisses her gently, careful not to put any pressure on the sling supporting her right arm.

“I liked what you were doing before,” Ellie informs him matter-of-factly, placing her left hand on his chest. He blushes. “Can’t believe you asked me to move in with you before you’d even kissed me.” Then she sighs. “I’m going to have to tell Tom, aren’t I?”

“Er,” Alec says. “Tom might have worked it out already.” He tells her about their chat in the kitchen.

Ellie lifts her eyebrows. “And you were planning to tell me when?” she wants to know, but her tone is teasing. “He really offered to watch Fred?” Alec nods. “Wow, he must be properly worried.”

“You’re his mum, ’course he — ”

He’s interrupted by the door banging open. Fred bursts in, bouncing into bed with them. “Mum! Mum! Guess what? Callum was at the park and we raced on the monkey — ”

“Easy, lad,” Alec says, catching Fred before he smothers Ellie with exuberance. Undeterred, he just clambers over their legs and snuggles up to Alec.

“ — bars and I WAS FASTER,” Fred finishes breathlessly. He tilts his face up. “Hi, Hardy.”

“Er, hi Fred,” Alec says, and he tentatively wraps an arm around the boy. One around Ellie, one around her son.

Ellie can hardly contain her laughter. “Well, of course you were faster. I hope you didn’t rub it in to Callum, though.”

Maggie appears in the doorway. “He didn’t. Hopped down and offered to share his Finz with the other lad.” She smirks. “The three of you look awfully cozy.”

“Thank you for taking him this afternoon,” Ellie replies composedly. “I think with Alec’s help and Tom’s, I’ll be able to manage the rest of the evening.”

“If you’re sure,” Maggie says, though she makes no move to leave.

“What’s for tea, Mum?” Fred wants to know.

“Chippy?” Alec guesses.

“Actually, Indian sounds good,” Ellie replies, much to his surprise. “I’ll take an order of samosas, and the boys both like the chicken tikka.”

Alec squeezes Fred. “You wanna come with me, lad?”

Fred’s eyes widen. “Can I?”

“You’ll need his booster seat,” Maggie reminds him. 

Alec blinks. Usually if he’s taking Fred anywhere, he just drives Ellie’s car, but it’s still parked at her house. “Er,” he says.

“Don’t worry, petal. It’s in my car. Fred, shall we show Uncle Alec how to put it in his car?”

Fred doesn’t need to be told twice. He scrabbles off the bed, catching Alec in the solar plexus with a small, sharp elbow.

“You’ll learn,” Maggie calls over her shoulder, Fred bounding after her.

Alec rubs his sternum, wincing. “I suppose I should have asked you first,” he says to Ellie, scooting down the mattress.

“Please, most days I’d give him away to a complete stranger,” she says. “I think I’ll take a little nap.” She hesitates. “And one of those pills, I think.”

Alec pauses at the edge of the bed, his fists digging into the mattress. “What changed your mind?”

“I’ve the boys to think of, don’t I? Can’t very well take care of them if I don’t take care of myself,” Ellie replies. “You’re sure you don’t mind looking after Fred? They make everything take twice as long when they’re that age.”

“I recall,” Alec replies from the doorway. “You need anything?”

“Got my pills, got my glass of water. Thank you, Alec.”

“Anytime,” he tells her, and it scares him how much he means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS. YOU ARE SO, SO KIND. Your comments have been so life-giving. I started this fic because after nearly a year of sheltering in place — I have severe Crohn's disease — I was in a bit of a funk. Writing this and reading your reactions have been wonderful distractions. But I actually got my second dose of the Moderna vaccine yesterday! It's currently making me very, very sleepy.
> 
> I am about 75% done with chapter 8, and after that, I'm so nervous/excited to get cracking on 9. It's going to be a bit of a change from what you've been reading, but I think it's the right direction for the story, and I'm so excited to take you there over the next few weeks!


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